Untitled

. . .

By eleven-thirty, Y/N had wiped down every table in the diner twice.

The chairs were flipped upside down over the booths and tables, the coffee machines had been cleaned, and the neon OPEN sign in the front window had been switched off nearly an hour ago. Outside, the empty highway stretched through the desert in both directions, illuminated only by the occasional passing headlights and the pale glow of the moon.

It was the kind of road people used to get somewhere else.

Few ever stopped unless they needed gas, coffee, or a bathroom.

Y/N had been working at the diner long enough to recognize the different types of travelers who came through: exhausted truck drivers, families with screaming children, couples who had clearly been arguing for the past fifty miles and college students attempting road trips in cars that looked one pothole away from collapsing.

Tonight had been unusually quiet.

Her manager had left shortly after closing, trusting Y/N to finish counting the register and lock up. The cook had disappeared through the back door ten minutes after that, leaving behind a cloud of cigarette smoke and a reminder not to forget the lights over the grill.

Now the diner belonged entirely to her.

She had claimed the booth nearest the counter, one leg tucked beneath her as she stared at the open laptop in front of her. A half-finished cup of coffee sat beside it, cold enough that the thin layer of creamer on top had begun to separate.

Three paragraphs remained between her and freedom.

Technically, five pages remained between her and freedom, but she had decided not to think about that.

Y/N leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the sentence she had rewritten four separate times.

The significance of—

She deleted it.

The historical importance of—

Delete.

“This is stupid,” she muttered.

Her professor had given the class two weeks to complete the assignment. Naturally, Y/N had spent thirteen days thinking about starting it and was now attempting to finish the entire thing during closing shifts at the diner.

The cursor blinked mockingly at her.

Y/N reached for her coffee, took one sip, and immediately grimaced.

“Disgusting.”

She drank it again anyway.

A faint rumble rolled somewhere in the distance.

At first, she assumed it was thunder.

The monsoon clouds had been gathering along the horizon since sunset, though they had yet to offer anything beyond a few flashes of lightning and enough humidity to make her hair cling to the back of her neck.

Y/N returned her attention to the laptop.

The significance of Norse mythology—

A blinding streak of light flashed past the diner windows.

She barely had time to lift her head before something struck the earth outside with a tremendous crash.

The windows rattled in their frames.

Silverware clattered inside its plastic trays. Her coffee tipped over, spreading across the table and soaking the corner of her notebook.

Y/N jumped from the booth with a sharp cry.

“What the hell?”

The lights flickered once.

Twice.

Then steadied.

Y/N remained frozen beside the booth, staring through the darkened windows.

For several seconds, there was nothing.

No second impact. No explosion. No vehicle skidding across the pavement.

Only silence.

The coffee continued dripping from the edge of the table and onto the floor.

Y/N slowly closed her laptop before the spreading liquid could reach it. Her pulse beat hard against her throat as she stepped away from the booth.

Maybe a transformer had blown.

Except the diner still had power.

Maybe someone had crashed nearby.

That possibility forced her feet into motion.

She hurried behind the counter and crouched, reaching beneath the register until her fingers closed around the wooden baseball bat her manager kept there.

He had claimed it was for protection.

Y/N had always thought it was more likely to get them sued.

Tonight, however, the weight of it in her hands felt reassuring.

She moved toward the front door and stopped with her fingers wrapped around the lock.

Calling the police would be the sensible thing to do.

She pulled her phone from the pocket of her apron.

No Service.

“Of course.”

She raised it over her head as though six additional inches might convince the nearest tower to acknowledge her existence.

Nothing.

The diner sat in one of those inconvenient dead zones where calls only went through if someone stood near the old vending machines outside and held their phone at exactly the right angle.

Y/N considered remaining inside.

Whatever had happened could wait until she found service.

Then she imagined someone trapped inside a wrecked car while she stood ten yards away debating whether it was safe to investigate.

She swore softly and unlocked the door.

Hot desert air rushed inside.

Y/N tightened both hands around the bat as she stepped into the parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath her sneakers. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, attracting moths and small flying insects that threw shifting shadows across the asphalt.

“Hello?”

No answer.

She looked toward the highway.

The road was empty.

There were no headlights, no tire marks and no wreckage scattered across the pavement. Whatever had caused the impact had come from somewhere else.

Y/N’s eyes shifted toward the stretch of desert behind the diner.

A faint haze of dust hung over the ground.

Beyond the last row of parking spaces, something had carved a shallow trench through the sand and scattered rocks in every direction. Sparse bushes had been flattened along its path.

Y/N stared at it.

“Nope.”

She took one step backward.

Then she heard it.

A low, strained sound coming from somewhere beyond the edge of the parking lot.

It might have been a groan.

The bat lowered slightly in her hands.

“Hello?”

Still no response.

Y/N approached the disturbed ground with careful steps. The diner lights grew dimmer behind her as she followed the shallow trench into the darkness.

Her sneakers sank into the loose sand.

At the end of the trail, a dark shape lay crumpled between two desert shrubs.

Y/N stopped.

It was a person.

A man, she realized as she moved closer. He lay facedown in the sand with one arm bent unnaturally beneath him and long black hair obscuring most of his face.

His clothing caught the moonlight in brief flashes of green, black and gold.

Not clothing, exactly.

Armor.

Y/N’s grip tightened around the baseball bat.

For one absurd moment, she wondered whether the nearby Renaissance festival had started early.

Then she saw the blood.

It stained the side of his face and soaked through torn fabric beneath the metal plating around his shoulders. One of his hands was scraped raw, his fingers still curled as though they had been holding something moments before.

The bat slipped lower.

“Oh, shit.”

Y/N hurried the remaining distance and dropped to her knees beside him.

“Hey.”

She placed the bat within reach and cautiously touched two fingers to the side of his neck.

His skin was cold.

Not cool from the night air. Cold enough to make her instinctively pull her hand back.

Panic shot through her.

Then she felt it.

A pulse.

Slow, but present.

Y/N released a breath she had not realized she was holding.

“Okay. You’re alive.”

The stranger did not respond.

She leaned closer, watching for the movement of his back. His breathing was shallow and uneven, but he was breathing.

That was good.

Breathing meant not dead.

She could work with not dead.

Y/N pulled out her phone again and dialed 911 despite the empty bars in the corner of the screen.

The call immediately failed.

She stood and walked several paces away, raising the phone toward the sky.

“Come on. Come on.”

No service.

She tried closer to the diner.

Nothing.

Near the edge of the highway.

Still nothing.

Y/N looked back at the man lying motionless in the dirt.

The nearest hospital was at least forty minutes away. The nearest place she could reliably make a call was probably the gas station fifteen miles down the road.

She could drive there and call for help.

She could also return to find that he had stopped breathing while she was gone.

“Why did you have to land in the one place without a signal?” she demanded.

The unconscious man offered no explanation.

Y/N paced once across the gravel, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.

She could not lift him.

Even from several feet away, she could tell he was tall. Lean, perhaps, but tall enough that attempting to carry him would end with both of them injured.

Dragging him across the sand would worsen whatever damage he had already suffered.

She stared at him, then at her car parked near the side of the diner.

An idea began to form.

It was not a good idea.

In fact, it was objectively one of the stupidest ideas she had ever entertained.

But it was technically an idea.

Y/N hurried toward her car and yanked open the back door. Fast-food wrappers, textbooks and an emergency sweatshirt occupied the seat. She pushed them aside before opening the trunk.

Her skateboard was buried beneath a reusable grocery bag and a case of bottled water.

She had not used it in months. The scratched deck was covered in faded stickers, and one of the wheels squeaked whenever it turned, but it remained mostly functional.

“Please don’t break,” she whispered, pulling it free.

Y/N carried the skateboard back across the parking lot and into the desert.

The stranger had not moved.

She placed the board beside him and crouched.

“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

He remained unconscious.

“I’m going to get you into my car, drive until I have service and call an ambulance. You’re not going to wake up and murder me.”

Nothing.

Y/N nodded.

“Great. Glad we agree.”

She rolled him carefully onto his back.

His face turned toward her.

Y/N paused.

Despite the blood streaking his temple and the bruises beginning to darken beneath his pale skin, he was—

Well.

He was unfairly attractive.

His features were sharp and almost elegant, from the high curve of his cheekbones to the severe line of his nose. Dark lashes rested against his skin. His long hair spread across the sand around him.

Y/N stared for one second too long.

Then she caught herself.

“Not relevant.”

His armor was unlike anything she had ever seen up close. The gold pieces were scratched and bent, while the green fabric beneath them had been torn in several places. It did not look like plastic or cheap costume metal.

It looked real.

Heavy, too.

That explained part of the problem.

Y/N slid her hands beneath his shoulders and attempted to lift him.

His upper body rose perhaps two inches before her arms began to shake.

“Oh, come on.”

She lowered him again and repositioned the skateboard closer.

The first attempt ended with one of his arms sliding from the board and dropping limply into the sand.

The second ended when the board rolled away from her.

On the third attempt, Y/N wedged one foot behind a wheel, hooked both hands beneath his arms and pulled with everything she had.

His shoulders landed across the deck.

The rest of him did not.

Y/N dropped onto the sand beside him, breathing heavily.

“Fuck. You could’ve been shorter.”

The stranger remained serenely unhelpful.

She climbed back to her feet, grabbed him beneath the arms again and dragged him another few inches onto the board. His legs extended far beyond the end, boots scraping lines through the sand.

It was not dignified.

It was not medically advisable.

It was, however, progress.

Y/N stepped back and examined her work.

His torso rested across the skateboard while his arms hung over either side and his heels remained on the ground.

She pulled off her apron, threaded it beneath his arms and tied it loosely across his chest to keep him from rolling off.

“There.”

He looked like the world’s most elaborate piece of luggage.

Y/N grabbed the front of the skateboard and began pulling.

The wheels sank immediately into the sand.

She stopped.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Y/N moved behind the board and pushed instead. It rolled several inches before catching on a rock and nearly throwing the stranger sideways.

She lunged forward and caught his shoulder.

“Absolutely not. I did not do all this just for you to crack your head open again.”

She dragged the board around the rock and continued.

. . . 

Y/N unlocked the apartment with one hand while keeping one foot planted against the skateboard to stop it from rolling backward. Then she dragged him inside, kicked the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

Her living room was small.

A worn couch occupied one wall, facing a television balanced on a low wooden stand. Books and college papers covered the coffee table. A laundry basket sat abandoned near the hallway, half-filled with clean clothes she had not bothered folding.

It was not the setting in which one expected to receive a mysterious armored man.

It would have to do.

Getting him onto the couch took another ten minutes.

Once he was finally stretched across the cushions, Y/N stood over him with both hands braced against her lower back.

“There.”

He looked uncomfortable.

His legs extended beyond the armrest, and one of the metal pieces at his shoulder pressed awkwardly against his neck.

Y/N frowned.

The armor had to come off.

She hesitated.

Removing someone’s clothing without permission felt wrong. 

Leaving blood-soaked material pressed against open injuries also felt wrong.

She crouched beside him and examined the clasps.

“I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to die. Not to be a pervert.”

The armor did not appear designed for easy removal.

Each piece overlapped another, secured with unfamiliar fastenings and narrow strips of dark leather. Y/N began with the gold shoulder plates, testing every buckle until one finally released.

The metal was colder than it should have been.

She placed each piece carefully on the floor beside the coffee table. Beneath the outer armor, the fabric was torn and damp with blood. A long cut ran beneath his ribs, while smaller abrasions covered his shoulders and arms.

Y/N swallowed.

“Okay.”

She found scissors in the kitchen and cut through the fabric where it had stuck to the wounds. When she reached the fitted leather around his waist, she paused again.

There was no way to clean everything properly without removing the rest.

Y/N looked at his face.

His breathing remained steady.

“You’re unconscious,” she reasoned quietly. “This is medical.”

She pointed at him.

“And you do not get to be weird about this later.”

She worked as quickly and respectfully as she could, keeping her eyes on the injuries rather than the man beneath the clothing.

That became more difficult when she discovered he wore nothing beneath the final layer.

Y/N immediately grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and covered his lower half.

“Great.”

She stared at the ceiling for a moment.

“Of course.”

Once her face stopped burning, she returned to the task.

She cleaned the blood from his skin with warm water and the softest cloth she owned. His body was marked with bruises that had already darkened to deep shades of purple and blue, especially along his ribs and shoulders. None of his bones appeared obviously broken, though Y/N knew that meant very little.

His skin remained unnaturally cold.

She placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

No fever.

The opposite, if anything.

Y/N wrapped the worst cuts with gauze and secured the bandages with medical tape. She put antibiotic ointment on the shallower scrapes, covered the torn skin across his knuckles and cleaned the blood from his hairline.

At one point, his brow furrowed beneath her touch.

Y/N froze.

His eyes did not open.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She finished the wound near his temple more gently.

Afterward, she washed his armor in the bathtub.

The water turned pink, then red, then gradually clear. Up close, the pieces looked even less like a costume. The metal was dense and beautifully worked, carved with patterns too intricate to have been manufactured cheaply. Even damaged, it seemed valuable enough to pay her rent for years.

Y/N left the armor to dry on towels across the bathroom floor.

The cloth and leather beneath it required more work.

Several seams had torn apart during his fall, and one sleeve had nearly separated from the shoulder. Y/N retrieved the small sewing kit she used to repair buttons and uniform hems, then sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch.

The material resisted an ordinary needle.

She broke one attempting to push it through the thicker section.

“You are extremely inconvenient,” she told him.

The stranger did not respond.

She eventually found a heavy needle in the back of the kit and used black thread to close the worst tears. Her stitches were not elegant, but they held. Where the fabric had been too badly damaged, she reinforced it from the inside with pieces cut from an old black shirt.

It took nearly two hours.

By the time she finished, her eyes ached and the sky beyond the windows had begun to lighten at the edges.

Y/N placed the repaired clothing with the rest of the armor in the bathroom. Then she returned to the couch.

The stranger had not moved.

The blanket still covered him from the waist down, though one side had slipped low enough to expose his hip.

Y/N quickly pulled it back into place.

“There. Modesty.”

She added a second blanket over his chest, partly because of how cold he felt and partly because she did not want to walk into the living room later and discover that the first one had fallen away entirely.

She left a glass of water on the coffee table and moved the baseball bat within easy reach of the armchair.

Only then did she allow herself to breathe.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Y/N checked the lock on the front door, then checked it again.

She did not think she could sleep.

Instead, she went into the kitchen and filled a kettle.

Tea seemed like something a normal person would make after finding an unconscious man in a crater.

Tea was calming.

Tea was harmless.

Tea did not ask why there was alien-looking armor drying in her bathroom.

Y/N leaned against the counter while the kettle heated, rubbing both hands over her face.

What was she going to do when he woke?

Ask his name.

Ask what happened.

Ask whether there was anyone she could call.

Then, depending on his answer, either drive him to the hospital or lock herself in the bathroom and climb out the window.

The kettle began to whistle.

She turned off the burner, poured the water over two tea bags and tried not to notice how badly her hands shook. One mug was for her. The other was for him, in case he woke and wanted something warm.

She had just added honey to the second cup when she heard movement in the living room.

A rustle of fabric.

Then silence.

Y/N went still.

The baseball bat was in the other room.

Excellent planning.

She reached for the largest kitchen knife instead.

A floorboard creaked.

Then another.

Slow footsteps approached the kitchen.

Y/N tightened her fingers around the handle.

A tall figure appeared in the doorway.

She looked up.

Her breath caught.

The stranger was awake.

He stood with one hand braced against the frame, dark hair falling loose around his shoulders. The bandage at his temple remained in place, though the one wrapped around his ribs had shifted slightly with his movement.

His eyes were sharp and startlingly green.

They swept across the kitchen in a single, assessing glance before settling on her.

He looked disoriented.

Not frightened.

Not confused in the helpless way she had expected.

He looked like an animal waking inside a trap and calculating how many people stood between him and the exit.

Y/N lowered the knife slightly.

“Hi.”

His gaze dropped to the blade.

Then returned to her face.

“Where am I?”

His voice was low and rough from disuse, but the words carried a precise, commanding weight that made her stand straighter without meaning to.

“My apartment.”

His expression hardened. “What realm?”

Y/N blinked. “New Mexico.”

His eyes narrowed.

“That was not my question.”

She stared at him. “Uh…Earth?”

A slight shift passed over his features.

“Midgard.”

He spoke the word as though confirming something unpleasant.

Y/N studied him more carefully.

He was pale and unsteady, but there was something unmistakably regal in the way he held himself. Even injured and wrapped in bandages, he looked as though he expected the room to accommodate his presence.

He took one step forward.

The movement drew her attention downward.

Y/N immediately turned toward the counter.

“Oh my God.”

The stranger stopped. “What?”

“You’re naked.”

Silence.

Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the tea.

Completely fixed.

She could still see him at the edge of her vision, which was far more than she wanted to see while attempting to have a conversation with him.

“You’re just—” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “You left the blanket.”

The stranger looked down at himself.

There was a pause.

Not embarrassment.

Merely acknowledgment. “As it would seem.”

Y/N glanced at him by accident.

Her gaze dropped.

She immediately snapped it back to his face and then away again.

“Could you please cover yourself?”

“Why?”

The question sounded genuine.

Y/N looked toward the ceiling.

“Because you’re standing naked in my kitchen.”

“I am aware.”

“You weren’t until I said something.”

His mouth tightened. “I was otherwise occupied.”

“With what?”

“Determining where I have been taken.”

“No one took you anywhere.”

His eyes sharpened. “You expect me to believe that I arrived here of my own will?”

“I found you outside my job.”

He watched her in silence.

“You were unconscious,” she continued. “In the desert. You were bleeding, and I couldn’t get service to call an ambulance, so I brought you here.”

She gestured toward the hallway without looking directly at him.

“Your clothes are in the bathroom.”

“My clothes?”

“The armor or whatever.”

His gaze moved over her face, searching for some indication of deception.

“You removed them.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed again. “They were covered in blood.”

“You disrobed me while I was insensible.”

“To clean your injuries.”

His expression became unreadable.

Y/N finally looked at his face.

Only his face.

“I covered you with a blanket.”

“Which appears to have been of greater concern to you than to me.”

“Yes, because I’m the one being traumatized right now.”

One of his eyebrows lifted.

The reaction was subtle, but unmistakably offended. “You speak boldly for one who claims not to be my captor.”

Y/N stared at him.

“You are naked, bleeding in my apartment and threatening me while butt-naked. I think we’re past formal introductions.”

The corner of his mouth shifted.

Not quite a smile.

More the distant memory of one.

It vanished before she could be certain.

“Where is the latrine?”

“Bathroom? Down the hall. First door on the left.”

He turned.

Y/N accidentally caught another glimpse of him from behind.

She spun back toward the counter so quickly that tea sloshed over the rim of her mug.

“And take the blanket with you!”

He paused in the doorway.

“What blanket?”

“The one on the floor in the living room.”

“I have no need of it.”

“I do.”

He looked over his shoulder at her.

For a moment, his eyes traveled across her face, taking in the flush in her cheeks and the determined way she refused to look below his shoulders.

Something knowing entered his expression.

“You are embarrassed.”

“I’m trying to be respectful.”

“An unusual concern, considering you have already seen me.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “For medical reasons.”

“So you claim.”

“I saved your life.”

“That remains to be determined.”

She turned fully toward him then, irritation momentarily overpowering embarrassment.

“You know what? Fine. Walk around naked. I don’t care.”

His eyes flicked downward briefly, following the line of her gaze before it shot back to his face.

“No,” he said softly. “I can see that.”

Y/N grabbed a dish towel and threw it at him.

His hand rose.

The towel stopped in midair.

Y/N froze.

It hovered between them for one impossible second before floating neatly into his waiting palm.

The kitchen fell silent.

Her grip tightened around the knife.

The stranger glanced at the towel as though nothing remarkable had occurred.

Then he looked at her.

Fear must have shown on her face, because his expression changed.

The amusement disappeared.

His shoulders drew back, despite the pain the movement caused him, and the regal coldness returned all at once.

“You would be wise to lower the blade.”

Y/N swallowed. “…You just stopped that in the air.”

“A minor feat.”

“That is not minor.”

“To you, perhaps.”

He stepped toward her.

Y/N raised the knife again.

He stopped.

For the first time since entering the kitchen, he appeared to truly see her, not merely as part of the strange room in which he had awakened, but as the woman who had found him, tended his wounds and was now plainly frightened of what stood before her.

His gaze moved to the bandage wrapped around his hand.

Then to the repaired cut along his side.

“You treated these.”

“Yes.”

“Without knowing what I am.”

“I still don’t know what you are.”

His expression hardened faintly at the wording.

Y/N noticed.

“Who,” she corrected. “I don’t know who you are.”

He studied her for a long moment.

Then, with visible reluctance, he wrapped the dish towel around his waist.

It covered almost nothing.

Y/N stared at it.

“That is a hand towel.”

“You demanded I cover myself.”

“Not with something the size of a napkin.”

His patience visibly thinned.

“I have survived the void between worlds. I will not be scolded over your household linens.”

“Then go get the blanket.”

His eyes flashed.

Y/N pointed down the hallway.

“Or your clothes.”

There was a tense pause.

Then he turned away with what remained of his dignity and walked toward the bathroom, one hand holding the towel closed at his hip.

Y/N waited until he disappeared from sight before setting the knife down.

Her knees felt weak.

She pressed both palms against the counter.

He had caught a towel without touching it.

He had called Earth Midgard.

He had asked which realm he was in.

Y/N looked toward the hallway.

The bathroom door opened.

Then silence.

A moment later, his voice carried through the apartment.

“What have you done to my garments?”

Y/N closed her eyes.

“I cleaned them.”

“You stitched them.”

“They were ripped.”

“With Midgardian thread.”

“It was that or dental floss.”

Another silence.

Then, colder, “Where are the remaining pieces?”

“On the floor beside the bathtub. I didn’t know how they attached.”

The bathroom door opened again.

He emerged wearing only the lower half of his clothing, the repaired leather sitting low on his hips while he carried the torn tunic in one hand.

Y/N made a concentrated effort to focus on the stitching.

His fingers traced one of the repaired seams.

The work looked crude beneath his touch, especially compared to the original construction.

“I know it isn’t perfect,” she said defensively. “The material broke two of my needles.”

His gaze lifted to hers.

“You repaired it yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Y/N frowned. “Because it was damaged.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

He continued watching her.

There was suspicion in his face, but something else beneath it. Something less certain.

Y/N gestured toward the second mug on the counter.

“I made tea.”

His eyes shifted toward it.

“You prepared it for me.”

“In case you woke up.”

“You did not know whether I would.”

“No.”

“And yet you prepared it.”

Y/N shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable beneath the weight of his attention. “You looked like you needed something warm.”

His expression became distant.

For a fleeting moment, the arrogance slipped.

He looked tired.

Not merely from his injuries, but from something deeper, something that had begun long before he struck the earth outside the diner.

Then the mask returned.

“What is your name?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it quietly, testing the sound.

She waited.

“And you are?”

His chin lifted.

The change in him was immediate. Even half-dressed and bandaged in a stranger’s kitchen, he gathered himself as though standing before a royal court.

“I am Loki of Asgard.”

Y/N stared at him.

He continued, each title delivered with wounded, practiced pride.

“Son of Odin. Prince of the realm. God of Mischief.”

The kitchen fell silent.

Y/N looked at his repaired clothing.

Then at the unfamiliar armor visible through the open bathroom door.

Then at the man who had stopped a flying towel in midair.

“Oh.”

His eyes narrowed. “That is all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m processing.”

“You doubt me.”

“I watched you do magic, so I’m trying very hard not to.”

“Magic.” His tone suggested the word was inadequate.

Y/N picked up the second mug and held it out to him. “Tea?”

Loki looked at it as though unsure whether it was an offering or a test.

Then he approached.

He took the mug from her hand, his fingers brushing hers.

His skin remained cold.

Y/N tried not to react.

Loki noticed anyway.

His gaze dropped to their hands.

Then rose slowly to her face.

She withdrew first.

“You should sit down,” she said. “Before you fall down.”

“I do not fall.”

Y/N glanced toward the living room. “You literally fell out of the sky.”

His expression went still.

The remark landed harder than she intended.

His fingers tightened around the mug.

Y/N watched the humor vanish from his face and immediately regretted it.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You know nothing of what occurred.”

His voice had lost its rough amusement. What remained was cold and sharp enough to cut.

“No,” she said carefully. “I don’t.”

He looked away.

For several moments, he said nothing.

The silence felt heavier than anger.

Y/N studied him, noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the kitchen walls.

Whatever had brought him to Earth had not been an accident.

Or, if it had, it was not the part that troubled him most.

She did not ask.

Instead, she nudged the honey closer across the counter.

“It might need more of that.”

Loki glanced down.

His grip on the mug gradually loosened.

“You are a peculiar creature.”

“I get that a lot.”

“You should be afraid of me.”

“I am a little.”

His gaze returned to hers.

The honesty appeared to surprise him.

Y/N folded her arms.

“But you’re hurt, and you haven’t done anything except insult my sewing and refuse to wear a blanket.”

A faint breath escaped him.

Almost a laugh.

“Your sewing is appalling.”

“And yet your clothes aren’t falling apart anymore.”

He examined the repaired seam once more.

“No,” he conceded quietly. “They are not.”

Y/N lifted her own mug.

“Drink your tea, Your Highness.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at the title, uncertain whether she was mocking him.

She was.

But only a little.

He raised the mug to his lips.

The tea was still hot enough that he paused after the first sip, surprise briefly crossing his face.

Y/N hid a smile behind her own cup.

There, half-dressed in her kitchen with his armor drying beside her bathtub and black thread closing the tears in his princely garments, Loki of Asgard took another cautious drink.

For the first time since waking, he did not look toward the door.

. . .

By the time Loki finished eating, the clock above the stove read 4:57 a.m.

Y/N stared at it for several seconds, as though willing the numbers to rearrange themselves into something less offensive.

They did not.

The remains of his meal sat on the plate in front of him: a smear of egg yolk, one corner of toast and nothing else. For someone who had initially regarded the food as beneath him, Loki had eaten with impressive efficiency.

He had also asked seventeen questions.

Y/N had counted.

Most of them had concerned Midgard, her home, the diner, the glowing box mounted above the stove and why humans stored food in cold cupboards only to heat it again moments later.

Several had concerned her.

Those had been harder to answer.

She gathered the empty dishes from the small table and carried them to the sink.

Behind her, Loki remained seated with his repaired tunic draped around his shoulders but not properly fastened. He looked marginally better than he had an hour earlier. There was more color in his face, and the trembling in his hands had stopped.

He still looked exhausted.

Y/N suspected she looked worse.

She turned on the faucet and rinsed the plate.

“I’m going to bed.”

The chair shifted behind her.

“Now?”

Y/N looked over her shoulder.

“Yes, now.”

His brows drew together faintly.

“You intend to sleep.”

“That’s usually what going to bed means.”

“In my presence.”

She shut off the water. “You can stay on the couch.”

“That was not my concern.”

Y/N dried her hands on a dish towel. “What is your concern?”

Loki studied her as though the answer should have been obvious.

“You know nothing of me.”

“I know.”

“You have admitted that you believe me dangerous.”

“Potentially.”

“I possess abilities you do not understand.”

“Definitely.”

“And still you would render yourself unconscious within the same dwelling.”

Y/N leaned back against the counter.

“I have been awake for almost twenty-four hours.”

“That does not explain your lack of caution.”

“It explains most of it.”

Loki’s expression suggested that it did not.

Y/N rubbed both hands over her face, then pointed vaguely toward the hallway.

“My bedroom is through there. The bathroom is the first door on the left. You already found that. There are extra blankets in the basket by the couch, and the tap water is technically safe, even if it tastes weird.”

“You speak as though I am a guest.”

“You’re not exactly paying rent.”

His gaze sharpened. “Yet you leave me unattended.”

“I’m too tired to supervise a god.”

“You should not require supervision to ensure your own survival.”

Y/N considered that.

“Fair.”

She pushed away from the counter.

“If you do decide to kill me, could you try to do it before my next shift?”

Loki went completely still.

Y/N walked past him toward the living room.

“I have to be back at the diner tomorrow afternoon, and I’d rather not make them find coverage at the last minute.”

His chair scraped sharply against the floor as he stood. “You jest.”

“Mostly.”

“You believe I might murder you, yet your concern is your place of employment?”

“I hate inconveniencing my coworkers.”

“This is absurd.”

“I’ve been told.”

She reached the edge of the living room and bent to retrieve the blanket from the floor, tossing it over the back of the couch.

Loki followed more slowly, one hand briefly bracing against the table before he caught himself.

Y/N pretended not to see.

“I have more questions,” he said.

“I figured.”

“And matters I wish to discuss.”

She looked at him.

There was a strange insistence beneath the words. Not command, exactly. Something closer to reluctance, as though he had only just decided he wanted the conversation to continue and resented time for attempting to end it.

Y/N yawned.

“You seem like a talker.”

His expression tightened.

“I do not talk excessively.”

“You’ve interrogated me about my microwave, my job, college, why people put ice in drinks, and whether the mailman is an official agent of the government.”

“He wears a uniform and enters the grounds of every residence.”

“He delivers coupons.”

“A convenient explanation.”

Y/N smiled tiredly.

“My point stands.”

Loki folded his arms carefully, avoiding the bandage around his ribs.

“You dismiss me.”

“I’m postponing you.”

“You assume I will remain until you wake.”

She stopped.

The apartment fell quiet around them.

The first gray traces of morning had begun to appear through the blinds, striping the carpet and the side of Loki’s face with pale light.

Y/N looked at him for a moment.

There it was again.

That expectation hidden beneath the arrogance.

That everyone eventually left.

Or perhaps that he always did first.

She nodded toward the couch. “You said you can’t leave yet.”

“My circumstances may change.”

“Then they change.”

“And if I am gone?”

“I guess I’ll know you felt better.”

His eyes searched her face.

“You would not pursue me.”

“I don’t even know where Asgard is.”

“That would not prevent some.”

“I also have homework.”

Loki’s mouth flattened, but the answer seemed to settle something in him.

Y/N took another step toward the hallway.

He spoke before she could leave. “You have not answered.”

“Answered what?”

“Whether I may continue my questions.”

“When I’m awake.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“You expect me to wait.”

“I believe in you.”

The words came out so casually that Y/N almost missed the way he reacted.

Loki stared at her.

The guarded amusement vanished from his face.

“What did you say?”

“I said I believe in you.”

“You cannot.”

“Why not?”

“You have known me for only hours.”

“True.”

“You know nothing of my character, my history or my intentions.”

“Also true.”

“Then upon what do you base such belief?”

Y/N blinked at him.

“I believe you can wait until I wake up before asking more questions.”

Silence.

Loki’s face changed with the realization.

Y/N pressed her lips together. “Oh.”

He looked deeply offended. “You were not speaking of me.”

“I was speaking of you. Just in a very specific, low-stakes way.”

“You made it sound—”

“More meaningful?”

“I did not say that.”

“You thought I was giving you an emotional affirmation.”

“I thought no such thing.”

His answer came too quickly.

Y/N smiled despite her exhaustion.

“Sure.”

Loki’s jaw tightened.

She pointed at the couch.

“You can do it. A few hours without interrogating me. I believe in you.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You can tell me all about it when I wake up.”

She turned toward the hallway.

“Y/N.”

She glanced back.

Loki stood in the middle of her living room, half-dressed in damaged royal clothing, black thread visible along the seams she had repaired. The dawn light made him look less like a man who had fallen from the sky and more like something the night had reluctantly surrendered.

He seemed poised to ask another question.

Instead, he said, “How long?”

“How long what?”

“Will you sleep?”

Y/N glanced at the clock again.

“Hopefully until noon.”

His expression suggested that six hours was an unreasonable disappearance.

“You’ll survive.”

“That remains to be seen.”

She smiled. “See? You already understand my sense of humor.”

“I do not.”

“You will.”

Y/N continued toward her room.

At the door, she stopped and looked back one final time.

“Oh, and don’t use the stove.”

Loki lifted his chin. “I am not a child.”

“You stared at the toaster like it was going to challenge you to combat.”

“It made a sound without warning.”

“Exactly. No stove. I can’t afford another home.”

She stepped into her room. “And Loki?”

“What?”

“Thanks for not killing me tonight.”

His expression became unreadable.

“You presume restraint on my part—“

“Good night.”

Y/N closed the door before he could answer.

She did not lock it.

Loki remained where she had left him, staring at the thin wooden barrier between them.

A lock would not have stopped him.

They both knew that.

But she had not even tried.

From the other side of the door came the quiet creak of the mattress, the rustle of blankets and, after only a few minutes, silence.

Loki listened.

No hurried breathing.

No attempt to escape through the window.

No weapon being moved beneath a pillow.

She had simply gone to sleep.

He looked toward the front door.

He could not leave.

Not yet.

That was the only reason he remained.

Loki repeated this to himself as he returned to the couch and lowered himself carefully onto it.

The blanket Y/N had offered lay folded over the back. He regarded it with disdain before pulling it across his legs.

On the coffee table sat the glass of water she had prepared earlier, along with two white tablets and a note written on the back of a diner receipt.

For pain. Human dose, so maybe only take one. Please don’t die. I have work.

Loki read it twice.

Then a third time.

A faint, unwilling smile touched his mouth.

“You believe in me,” he murmured.

From the bedroom, Y/N gave a muffled snore.

Loki’s smile disappeared.

He settled deeper into the couch, prepared to wait until she woke.

He lasted eleven minutes before thinking of another question.

Loki lasted thirty minutes.

For the first ten, he sat upright on the couch with the blanket draped across his legs and his attention fixed on the closed bedroom door.

For the next five, he examined the objects scattered across the coffee table.

A stack of textbooks.

Several pens.

A half-empty package of gum.

The note she had left beside the tablets.

He read it once more, though there was nothing within it he had not already understood.

Crude.

Irreverent.

Strangely considerate.

Loki placed the note precisely where he had found it.

Beneath the coffee table, partly hidden by one of her discarded shoes, he found a small red ball. It was rubber, worn smooth in places and small enough to fit comfortably in his palm.

He leaned back against the couch and tossed it toward the ceiling.

The ball rose, slowed, then dropped neatly into his waiting hand.

Again.

Up.

Down.

Catch.

The rhythm occupied him for perhaps another seven minutes.

Then it became insulting.

Loki sent the ball higher, allowing it to nearly touch the ceiling before catching it without looking.

He had endured diplomatic councils that moved faster than this.

He had waited through Thor’s endless speeches, Odin’s silences and entire feasts during which no one said anything of worth. Yet somehow, waiting for one sleeping Midgardian to awaken felt uniquely unreasonable.

She had said noon.

He looked toward the clock.

Barely half an hour had passed.

Absurd.

Loki tossed the ball again.

Perhaps she was not asleep.

The thought arrived quietly.

He caught the ball.

Perhaps the entire display had been a deception.

She had been too calm. Too willing to leave him unattended. Too quick to accept his presence within her home.

No one behaved so carelessly without reason.

She might have retreated to the bedroom to contact someone through another device. She might be recording him. She might be waiting for armed men to arrive.

Midgard possessed organizations devoted to unusual threats. Loki knew enough of the realm to understand that much.

The woman had claimed her device could not reach anyone from the diner.

That did not mean the same was true here.

He glanced toward the narrow hallway.

The apartment remained silent.

Too silent.

Loki threw the ball once more and caught it with sharper force.

She may have been plotting against him from the moment she found him.

The skateboard could have been part of the indignity.

He placed the ball on the table.

Pain pulled beneath his ribs as he stood, but he ignored it. His strength had begun to return, though far more slowly than he would have preferred. The fall through the void had drained him in a way battle never had.

He crossed the living room without sound.

The bedroom door waited at the end of the hallway, closed but not secured.

No lock.

That, too, could have been deliberate.

An invitation designed to convince him she felt safe.

Or a test.

Loki rested his hand against the handle.

He listened.

Nothing.

No whispering.

No movement across the floor.

Only the faint hum of the air conditioner and a quiet, uneven breath from the other side.

He turned the handle slowly.

The door opened without a creak.

The room beyond was dim, lit only by the pale morning light slipping through the blinds. Clothes had been draped over the back of a chair. More books were piled beside the bed, one lying open facedown across the carpet.

A small lamp remained on.

Y/N was asleep.

Truly asleep.

She lay on her side beneath a tangled comforter, one hand tucked beneath her pillow while the other rested loosely against the mattress. Her hair had spread across the pillow in complete disarray, and the exhaustion that had been visible in her face earlier had softened into something peaceful.

There was no phone in her hand.

No weapon nearby.

No concealed accomplice waiting in the shadows.

She had told him she was going to sleep.

Then she had done exactly that.

Loki remained in the doorway.

The simplicity of it unsettled him more than deception might have.

She had been truthful from the moment he woke.

Painfully so.

She did not soften her answers to preserve his pride. She did not flatter him when he offered his titles. She admitted when she feared him and mocked him in the same breath.

She had not pretended that bringing him home was wise.

She had not claimed some noble destiny compelled her.

She had simply found him injured and decided not to leave him there.

Because she did not want bad karma.

Because she did not wish to be an asshole.

Loki nearly scoffed at the memory.

Nearly.

He stepped farther into the room.

Y/N did not stir.

She had no idea he stood there.

No awareness of how vulnerable she had made herself. One movement of his hand and he could silence her before she ever opened her eyes.

The thought brought no satisfaction.

Instead, Loki found himself noticing the faint crease between her brows, as though even in sleep some small concern followed her. The edge of the blanket had slipped from one shoulder, revealing the worn shirt she had changed into before bed.

There was nothing regal about her.

Nothing practiced.

No carefully arranged hair, jeweled gown or painted smile meant to secure favor.

She was simply herself, even when no one was meant to see.

Beautiful.

The word entered his mind without permission.

Loki’s expression tightened.

He looked away from her face.

That was foolish.

She was mortal. Ordinary. Exhausted from a night spent serving strangers and completing scholarly work in a roadside diner.

And yet—

He looked back.

There was something beautiful in the softness of her sleeping face.

More than that, in the honesty of it.

She had no mask.

No performance.

She had seen him injured, confused and stripped of every visible mark of rank, and she had still spoken to him as though he were neither monster nor king.

Only a man who needed help.

Loki disliked how much that pleased him.

Y/N shifted slightly beneath the covers.

He went still.

Her lips parted around a quiet breath. One hand moved across the mattress, searching absently until her fingers caught the edge of the comforter and pulled it closer.

She did not wake.

Loki released a breath through his nose.

He should leave her to rest.

Not because she had asked.

Certainly not because she had said she believed in him.

He simply had no further reason to remain in the doorway.

That was all.

Loki reached for the handle and began to draw the door closed.

Before it shut, Y/N murmured something into the pillow.

He paused.

The words were indistinct.

Then, more clearly—

“No stove.”

Loki stared at her.

She remained asleep.

His eyes narrowed.

Even unconscious, she apparently considered him incapable of navigating her crude cooking apparatus.

A faint smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.

“Insufferable creature,” he whispered.

He closed the door until only a narrow gap remained, leaving enough space for the light from the hallway to reach the room.

Then he returned to the living room.

The red ball still rested on the table.

Loki lowered himself carefully onto the couch and picked it up again.

This time, when he tossed it toward the ceiling, he did so more slowly.

Up.

Down.

Catch.

The wait remained absurd.

You couldn't help but cringe whenever the cuffs got your attention, reminding you just how messed up the organization you worked for could be. 

Loki had been doing tremendously well since New York- showing progress in his ‘rehabilitation’ by working on being better. He's gained mutual trust amongst the tower and the two of you had become close friends- and yet, car rides always had that stupid rule that handcuffs were required. 

‘’It's okay Y/N.’’ His gentle voice got your attention as you looked over, meeting his reassuring eyes that he was neither in pain nor discomfort while taking up the back of the van. ‘’It’s not so bad.’’

You gave a small sigh, wishing honestly you were allowed to at least sit beside him- sitting sideways against the van’s walls wasn't exactly limo tolerable. ‘’Are they tight?” you nodded to indicate the cuffs, wanting to check anyway since he now and again would rotate his wrists in his lap.

‘’I meant the company.’’ he teased and you couldn't help but laugh, especially when the two of you noticed a dry look coming from over Steve’s shoulder who had taken the front passenger seat. 

‘’Its not my decision either Loki, you know Fury calls the shots.’’

‘’And yet how much is Stark able to get away with?” Loki challenged, watching how Roger’s shoulders slumped at how right the statement was.

‘’I'll talk to him again, we’ve already pushed a bit of your leaveway and-’’

‘’He deserves it Steve, he’s helped so much on our recent assignments.’’ you pointed out, crossing your arms defensively as if you were the one being talked about but Loki shook his head. 

‘’Worry not about me Y/N, ill be free soon enough.’’

The statement had Steve whip his head around with a sharp look, only to find what Loki called his ‘kidding face’- which most of you all were still trying to recognize. 

‘’Sir, there seems to be a call coming in.’’ The agent in charge of driving SHIELD’s transport van got Roger’s attention. The screen lit up Stark’s face then who seemed to be semi distracted with loud interference behind him.

‘’Speaking of.’’ Loki mumbled.

‘’Gonna need you guys to make a pit stop-’’

‘’We’re not stopping at another coffee shop Stark.’’ you noted dryly before Tony shook his head.

‘’Different this time- we have more agents than anticipated and gonna need a little help, I saw you’re just about to pass the block.’’

‘’Romanoff isn't with you?” Steve raised a brow and already gave the driver a look that told him to change their route and head over.

‘’She is but she’s heading towards the root of the problem so i’m covering the outskirts which.. Seems to be scattering faster than I can keep up,’’ Tony cleared his throat, clearly having a hard time admitting such a thing but he did have a power problem back at home when Thor thought it was a good idea to ‘bring the toaster back to life’ and interrupted most of the repairs Tony was working on.

‘’We’ll head there right away and join you.’’ Steve nodded and Tony hung up. 

You just began to shift in your seat, feeling the familiar itch that stirred up whenever you were about to get the adrenaline rush but by the look on Steve’s face, you deflated quickly. 

‘’Were gonna have to stay here with Loki.’’

You raised a brow and the two of you glanced at each other before you returned back to Steve. ‘’Why can't we both help?”

‘’We’ll have enough coverage and you know Fury still hasn't found out about most of the cases where he’s helped,’’ Steve sighed and looked over at Loki. ‘’If you want those off sooner, we’re going to have to start following the rules.’’

‘’Fine by me, i quite enjoy watching the struggle from in here.’’ Loki shrugged with a smirk and would have relaxed his hands behind his head if he were able too. 

‘’Please Y/N,’’ Steve pressed, trying to suppress his irritation from the god- as if we needed another sarcastic smart ass on the team (his words, not yours) before you gave him a little nod.

‘’No problem.’’ you promised before glancing out the window to already find the van pulling up at the scene in question. 

In all actuality, you didn't mind staying with Loki.. if it didn’t make you hella nervous. The two of you have grown quite close in your friendship, the way people would flirt playfully but hinting on the borderline of meaning it but not confirming it. Unless you were reading the room wrong, you were getting small hints that Loki kinda liked you.. The way you liked him. You never were this nervous from the beginning.. But he’s begun quite recently to watch you intently, fondly, even speak in a way where it was almost.. Seductive? 

‘’Y/N.’’

‘’Huh?” you snapped out of it and looked over at Steve who was already fixing his face mask with the door half way open.

‘’Call if you need anything,’’ he warned, knowing he was also telling you to stay focused while you sheepishly gave him a thumbs up before he and the agent exited the car. 

As soon as the van’s doors closed, you were left in an almost loud silence, the kind where it was almost awkward and you thought that even the smallest shift would be too loud.

‘’You are nervous today.’’

Loki’s voice noticeably changed, that seductive tone he often took when the two of you were alone together. It sent that shiver right down your spine and although he still stayed sat in the backseat, somehow it almost sounded like he spoke right up against your ear.

‘’I feel like.. Their on to us..’’ you said quietly and turned your head to look at him, seeing how his eyes already waited for yours.

He smiled knowingly and lounged more in his seat, looking like he wished to cross his arms if he could. ‘’I ceased at my flirtations upon request love, anything else they pick up on could be merely out of assumptions.’’

You raised a brow accusingly at him with the faintest redness to your cheeks. ‘’I’m pretty sure they saw you touch my ass when I got into the van first.’’

Loki smirked. ‘’Merely accidental, I wished you not to misstep when entering but have to work with my.. Limitations.’’ he sighed and shifted his hands to make the cuffs known.

You weren't buying it for a second but allowed yourself to look at the cuffs finally with an honest expression, one filled with concern and longing to have them off. ‘’Seriously though.. Do they hurt?”

Loki’s expression became unreadable as he watched you, giving the faintest nod up to gesture for you to come over. ‘’Come investigate them.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you warned, giving him a small look while he gave you an indifferent one.

‘’No tricks darling, this is hardly the right place to take advantage of you.’’ he said innocently and your cheeks heated up.

‘’And here I thought you devoted yourself to being the perfect gentleman,’’ you quietly teased but nevertheless, slowly stood up and made your way over to where he was, having to hunch a little in the not so tall van.

‘’You could hardly blame my wavering patience when you keep looking the way you do,’’ his eyes hinted at looking you over, even if you were in your work uniform.. Then again, it was your tight jumpsuit.

‘’And how do I look?” you questioned, feeding into his teasing while his hands outstretched to meet you half way to take hold of yours, encouraging you to move closer until you now stood between his spread legs.

‘’Like you absolutely want to fall for me..’’ he smirked and you hesitated when you felt the light pull on your hands to indicate for you to lower yourself.

The two of you hadn't done anything necessarily.. Overboard to compromise your job or his trust.. But the growing tension of flirtation, touch and make out sessions were hiring the challenge by not absolutely devouring each other. You could never take on a friend with benefits, but the two of you hinted at loyalties where you'd be absolutely serious on being his partner if the world would have allowed you too.. 

Fury would claim he mind controlled you, getting you closer in hopes to perhaps gain an allie, secrets given and a chance to present escape. Fury knew nothing.. Nor did the team who now and again would often hint at suspicions themselves.. You knew Loki.. Loki would never do such a thing.. And you'd want nothing more than for the two of you to be together than having to just resort to subtle (not so subtle) touches, gestures and whispered words.

‘’We can work it out..’’ Loki whispered, drawing you back in the present as you looked at him, seeing how he continued to hold onto your hands while looking up at you as if he had read your mind. 

‘’You know it’s not that simple..’’ you sighed and felt him nudge your hands again, finally allowing yourself to sink down onto your knees so the two of you were more on eye level.. With Loki taking on a slight hunch as he leaned forward to look at you.

‘’It’s as simple as a disease darling.’’ 

His words made you look at him strangely, knowing he wasn't trying to be insulting but his hands clutched yours tighter to prevent you from pulling away. ‘’Do elaborate so that i do not get further insulted,’’ you half teased and he grinned, raising his hands quickly to catch onto your chin next, keeping you looking at him even amongst the awkward position with his wrists tied.

‘’They are the disease darling, the thing that negatively affects the structure or function of a good thing from happening.’’ he said gently and you studied his face a bit more.

‘’So you're saying.. You and I have a disease?” you almost wanted a laugh at the metaphor the two of you were sharing but that was your relationship wasn't it? All hints towards things that could be easily straightforward and explained. 

Who wants to be boring?

‘’Mmm precisely darling, or at least for as long as we keep living amongst these conditions..’’ he whispered, hinting towards the world amongst you while keeping his eyes on yours as if that was all he could see. His arms raised, being slow and gentle before he suddenly had you in the circle of his arms, his wrists resting just above your hip bones and pulling you closer to rest against his chest. 

You smiled gently at him, scooting all the more closer before raising your arms to wrap around his neck. You knew how you felt for each other, but you’d be lying if you didn't admit your frustrations weren't growing with the limitations you both had to endure because of SHIELD.. No.. because of him..

‘’I regret my actions all those years ago if I would have known it would compromise something I truly wanted.. Someone I truly love.. Our lifestyle right now is because of me.. And i cannot tell you how grateful i am for your patience and-’’

‘’Loki,’’ you stop him, noticing how his desperation and regret began to seep through and you brushed your nose against his to have him pause and look at you. ‘’If you and I are incurable.. To a world that no matter what, wants to keep us separate and stay blind from what they can't see between us.. I will gladly stay infected..’’

It didn't necessarily sound romantic, but the two of you just got each other. The world wouldn't understand, but the world didn't matter to you both. 

Loki’s eyes stayed on you until they began to flutter at the feeling of your looks brushing against his, teasing you at first before he pressed them a bit more firmly against you with his eyes falling closed.

The two of you simultaneously hummed against each other’s mouths, kissing each other over and over and over again with growing passion with each time you reunited. There came a point that you completely abandoned the fact that there was no exact time limit on when your comrades may return and you climbed up onto his lap. He was careful, holding you carefully in the loop of his bound arms until you were finally straddling him, pressing your chest back against his to return to kissing him, this time with his tongue slipping into your mouth. 

Kissing Loki always felt like the first time.. The passion, the intensity and domination, whether he was cuffed or not. The way he growled in your mouth when your fingers slipped into his hair, either tugging to scratch his scalp while his head leaned more into your touch. His own hands kept you firm against his, his fingers flattening enough to grasp at your ass and knead at it. 

If the two of you weren't in the van, your clothes probably would have finally been torn off- but there was always that knacking reminder that the two of you would always have to hold a little back.

Leaning back for air finally, the two of you looked at each other through half lidded eyes and his voice came out nothing more than a whisper.

‘’I wanna take you..’’ 

Your eyes fluttered and your head tilted back when you felt his lips now at your throat. ‘’Not here..’’

‘’I want to break you..’’ he growled, tugging you even closer against him while he nipped at your flesh, the feeling of his bulge twitching below you had you raise noticeable in the air, you almost considered it.

‘’Loki…’’

‘’Stop me before i do it again..’’ he whispered, desperation and need in his voice while you could feel his thighs tense below you and need to buck up.

The feeling between your own legs also was pulsing, the want to rub and hump him causing your legs to squeeze around his hips, you looked down at him with that shared mischievous look he often had when getting into trouble.

‘’Darling..’’ he warned, his jaw tense and you moved your hands to his shoulders now to stabilize yourself, fluttering your eyes when you pushed back a little before dragging your hips back towards his own, rubbing up against his bulge again that not only stimulated you, but had him getting riled up as well.

‘’Not-.. Gods.. not.. Here..’’ he didn't sound convincing much as his head fell back with his eyes shut, swallowing thickly as you repeated your action with the same pace in hopes to tease him. ‘’Darling.. You’re killing me..’’

‘’I’m suffering along with you.. But luckily nothing is quite impossible with the right determination..’’ you whispered, the corner of your mouth tugging up and you questioned if the two of you really were going to do this..

A hum left his lips as you began dragging back and forth, tilting your hips enough to stimulate your clit through your tight uniform before dragging your entire center over his bulge, giving him the same simulating pleasure where his hips began to tilt up and meet you.

‘’Fuckkk..’’ he groaned, Midgardian language having rarely left his tongue unless it were times like this- even if this was probably the riskiest thing you’ve ever done..

‘’I want.. Mmm i want too..’’ you mumbled, that coil beginning to wind up in your pelvis as you firmly began to hump him, adding a little bit more speed while his hands gripped onto you and helped drag you forward.

‘’I know darling.. I know.. So do i..’’ he ground out, fluttering his eyes open to watch you while your pupils blew up with lust.

The two of you kept at the rhythm, almost intentionally where you didn't want to finish just yet but to make this moment of pleasure last through touch and passion. Your thighs began to shake, ignoring the slight burn as the pleasure acted as a great distraction and your fingers curled now into his shirt.

He began to pant, watching you as if you were the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes on before reaching up, cradling the back of your head before pulling you down, capturing your lips in his once more. 

The two of you moaned, your hips growing faster while his hips began to rock up into yours. His tongue explored your mouth, almost shoving deeper if you hadn't pulled back enough to bite at his bottom lip. The tease ran his hands back down to your ass, firmly grinding you back and forth against his hips before you began to feel his bulge pulse way more.

‘’Loki.. I’m.. i’m..’’ you whimpered, your arousal almost there while his pulses seemed to almost vibrate against your clit in the most delicious way.

‘’Go ahead dalring.. Cum for me.. Right here..’’ he whispered, his lips parted in a silent moan while he was nearly there himself.

With one more firm drag, your head throws back and you let out a moan, feeling your empty cunt clench around noticing but pulse and begin to drench a bit through your panties.

It only took a moment after you before Loki’s hands held you down against him, almost as if he were holding you down on his cock had it been inside before he pulsed and groaned, creaming his own pants while the two of you rode your high.

Your limbs shook and you wrapped your arms around him with your chin resting against his shoulder, taking in his sweet scent while he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply until his hips began to slow down and settle. 

The two of you held each other for awhile, climbing down from your highs while feeling your heart beats against each other’s chests. You squeezed your eyes shut, emotions running through you with the need to squeeze him, kiss him, Hel- even cry with how much you cared for him.. 

His breathing grew even while his hands rose to gently begin rubbing one against your back soothingly, resting his chin against the spot between your shoulder and your neck.

‘’Loki?”

‘’Mmm?” he said quietly, thoroughly relaxed and you could almost hear the smile in his voice.

‘’We’re going to be okay..’’ you said quietly, almost snuggling closer before you felt him lean back, making you lean back as well to let him look at you.

His eyes were gentle, a smile soft on his lips while he looked up at you with as much love as you had in your heart. ‘’I know we will darling, i promise..’’

The sound and feeling of someone hitting the car caused you both to snap your attention towards the window, just enough time to see an enemy agent pass down onto the ground out of sight. Someone must have thrown him.

Raising your eyes to take in the scene, the two of you just discovered the battle happening right outside the van- shield’s flying, blasts firing, Tony darting in and out of your vision while people ran a muck to either evade Cap or throw a useless fist towards him. A battle scene at its finest with the dusk coming up to cover most of the view.

‘’..you think Fury would find out if we go out there and help?” you asked plainly just as the van rumbled and shook before settling again.

The feeling of Loki’s arms pulling you closer, followed by the growing bulge that began to come back below you drew your eyes back to his awaiting ones.

‘’Actually, why not the two of us sit this one out?” he smirked, that mischievous look coming to his eyes again and you knew exactly what he was planning to do.. again.

DM a song for your own Musical Mischief one shot!

Growing up, you’ve always pictured your wedding day as this grand, romantic thing. You’d have the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect everything. You'd walk down a petal-strewn aisle toward the love of your life, your heart doing a little fluttery dance. Maybe your dad would get teary-eyed. Maybe your mom would be proud for once in her life. You would be happy.

Yet here you sit, Grima and your mother fussing with the pins in your hair, and all you can feel is this cold, heavy dread.

“There,” your mother says, giving a final, sharp tug that makes you wince. “It’s adequate.”

You stare at your reflection. The woman staring back is a stranger. Sunken eyes, a dress of bright blue that clings to your torso before flaring out at the waist, and a silver circlet embedded with dark opals that feels more like a crown of thorns than anything else. You look like a princess, but you feel like a sacrifice.

“It’s beautiful, my lady,” Grima says softly. Her smile is genuine, which is the only thing keeping you from shattering into a million pieces. “His Highness will be speechless.”

One of them certainly will be, your brain supplies unhelpfully. And not the one she’s talking about.

Loki has not shown his face since his confession last night. You had stayed in the garden until your skin was chilled and your heart was raw, before sneaking back to your chambers and crying yourself into an exhausted sleep. Now, with the sun already climbing high into the sky, there is still no sign of him. The ceremony is at midday.

A knock sounds at the door. Your mother straightens, her expression hardening into one of habitual regal disapproval.

“Enter.”

A guard pokes his head in. “Apologies—”

“Out with it,” your mother snaps. She has always been a woman of little patience, and today even less so. “We are on a schedule.”

The guard swallows nervously. “The allmother has requested the princess’ presence in her chambers.”

Your mother’s eyes soften almost imperceptibly. “Of course.” She turns to you, her hands resting on your shoulders in a gesture that almost feels maternal. Almost. “Come. We mustn't keep her waiting.”

She makes to move, but the guard hesitates. “Apologies, my lady, but Her Majesty specifically requested the princess come alone.”

You immediately feel a surge of something you can't quite name. You didn’t always feel so fearful of Odin’s wife. As a child, you had a strange fondness for the queen, for the quiet way she watched over things, for the way her hands always seemed to know just how to soothe a scraped knee or a feverish brow. But now, since you and Loki had been playing this treacherous game, every interaction with the Asgardian royal family is filled with paranoia.

“Very well,” your mother says, giving you a look that’s a mixture of ‘don't you dare mess this up’ and ‘good luck.’ “We have preparations to finish anyway.”

Yo are led from your chambers by the guard, down familiar gilded hallways that suddenly feel like a cage. The guards outside the queen’s chambers bow as you approach, and one opens the heavy oak door for you.

Frigga is standing by the window, her back to you, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the palace. She’s wearing agown of blue, her golden hair braided intricately. She looks every inch the queen.

“You sent for me, Your Majesty?” you ask, your voice sounding small and thin in the vast, quiet room.

She turns, and her smile is kind, but her eyes hold a strange, knowing light. “My dear girl. Come. Sit with me.”

She gestures to a small, plush sofa near the fireplace. You do as she asks, the hue of your gown a stark, vibrant slash against the muted tones of the room.

“Today is a big day,” she says, settling into a chair opposite you. “You must be very nervous.”

You nod, not trusting your own voice. You fidget with a loose thread on the sofa. There’s a lump in your throat that won't go down.

You wonder if she knows. You wonder if her husband knows. You wonder if anyone knows how close you came to throwing it all away last night.

Because, oh, how you had wanted to. You didn’t understand until Loki put the choice in front of you, but the desire to stay was a palpable thing. A longing that had been buried under layers of duty and fear and resignation, but was now clawing its way to the surface. And what could you do but deny it?

“I was nervous on my wedding day, too,” Frigga continues, her gaze unwavering. “Terrified, in fact. Marrying Odin was the most significant thing I would ever do. It would define my life, my legacy. There is a certain… weight to that, isn't there?”

“Yes,” you whisper, finally finding your words. “A great weight.”

She studies you for a long moment, and you have the unsettling feeling she’s peeling back your skin and looking right into your soul. It’s a different kind of perception than Loki’s. His is a sharp, clever thing. Frigga’s is a soft, enveloping warmth, a river that wears you down until you have no choice but to let it flow. And right now, you are afraid you might drown in it.

“You have been a good friend to my son. To both of my sons,” she says, and there’s no accusation in her tone. “Thor, for all his… Thor-ness, can be a bit boisterous. He doesn't always see the quiet things. But you do. You see Loki.”

You freeze, every muscle in your body tensing. There is that feeling again, as if you were a child caught with your hand in the cookie jar. But you school your features into a mask of calm, even as your heart starts to pound against your ribs like a trapped bird.

“He’s my friend,” you manage to say, your voice barely audible. “Of course I see him.”

She smiles, a slow, gentle curve of her lips. “Of course.” She leans forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “And because you see him, surely you must understand that Loki… he does not always react to things in the way one might expect.”

You say nothing, because what can you possibly say to that?

I know he’s a trickster? I know he has a temper? I know he whispered words in a garden that could cost my realm its alliance with Asgard?

“The two of you. Always bickering, always at odds,” she muses, almost to herself. “You know, when you were younger, he used to practice a particular illusion. A very simple one. He would make a rose appear in the palm of his hand. He would practice for hours, trying to get the color just right, the petals just so. And whenever he felt he thought he had perfected it, who do you think he would show it to?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You can’t hear this.

“He would show it to Thor, of course,” she continues. “And Thor would clap him on the back before running off to do something more… heroic. He would show it to me, and I would smile and tell him it was lovely. But he was never satisfied with our reactions. He wanted more.”

She pauses, and the silence in the room is a heavy thing.

“Then one day, he showed it to you.” She is watching you so intently now, it’s as if she’s trying to will the memory into your head. “You were assisting me with my tapestry in the gardens. He came up to you, that same illusion in his palm. And you didn’t just say it was ‘lovely.’ You told him the petals were too symmetrical. That a real rose has imperfections. You told him the color was too vibrant. That it looked… fake.”

You remember. The memory, long buried under years of complicated feelings, resurfaces with a painful clarity. You had been full of a child’s blunt honesty, with none of the carefully curated diplomacy you now possess.

“He didn't speak to you for a week after that,” Frigga chuckles, amusement in her tone. You definitely remember that. “But the illusion he showed me the next week… it was the most perfect, most convincing illusion I had ever seen. Every petal was unique, every color was muted.”

“It looked real,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

You had noticed. He’d come up to you again, and without a word, held out his hand. And the rose had been perfect. The scent of it had even seemed real. And you had just nodded at him, and he had nodded back, and that was that. It was also after that he began to get a little too cocky with his illusions. Not long after that was the first he'd tried to make you believe a serpent was in your bed. You'd screamed so loud the entire wing of the palace had heard you. To this day, you have never forgiven him for that.

“He has always valued your opinion.” Her voice pulls you back to the present. “Far more than he would ever admit. It is why he goads you so.”

You don’t know why she’s telling you this. It feels like a warning and a kindness all at once, a beautifully wrapped dagger pressed into your palm. Your hands are trembling in your lap, and you have to clasp them together to keep her from noticing.

“Your Majesty,” you begin, your voice strained. “What is the purpose of this conversation?”

Please, Gods, let it just be a mother’s fond reminiscing. Let it be a last-minute attempt at comfort before the wedding. Let it be anything but what you fear it is.

She doesn't answer your question. Instead, she rises from her chair and walks to a small, ornate chest in the corner of the room. She opens it and pulls out a leather-bound book. It’s large, with no title on its cover. She brings it over to you and places it in your lap.

“What is this?” you ask, your fingers tracing the worn leather. It’s surprisingly heavy.

“A record of seidr,” she says simply. “Basic spells. Illusions, healing, minor conjurations. Things I believe you have a natural aptitude for.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “Me? But I… I have no magic. My realm—”

“Is full of it,” she finishes gently. “Your people simply use it differently. You weave it into your textiles, into your songs, into the very structure of your homes. You just don’t call it by that name.”

You open the book. The pages are filled with elegant, looping script and intricate diagrams. You can’t read a word of it, but there’s a strange pull to it. You feel a hum of energy that vibrates through your fingertips.

“I do not understand,” you say, your head starting to spin. “Why are you giving this to me? On my wedding day?”

Frigga kneels before you, her hands covering yours on the book. Her touch is warm, and for a second, the heavy dread in your chest lifts.

She doesn’t seem angry. Perhaps she knows not about Loki’s plea in the garden. Perhaps she has no idea how close you were to choosing him. She’s just… kind. And you don't know what to do with that.

“Because I am your queen,” she says, her voice firm. “And my duty is to protect my realm and its alliances. My son is to be your husband. He is a good man, but he is… focused. He sees the grand tapestry, but not always the threads. You see the threads. This,” she taps the book, “will help you mend them when they fray.”

Her words are a riddle, and you’re too exhausted to solve it. “Thank you,” you say, because it seems like the right thing to say. “I will treasure it.” And you mean it. In a life full of things you didn’t ask for, this book, this gesture of faith from the most powerful woman in the Nine Realms, feels like a bright spot.

“There may come a day,” Frigga softly speaks, “when you find yourself with no counsel but your own. If that day should arrive, I would rather you possess knowledge than fear.” She stands and smooths down her skirts. “Now, off with you. I’m sure you have much to do.”

You get up, the heavy book clutched to your chest like a shield, and give a curt bow before walking to the door. However, before you think to leave, you hesitate, your back to her. You need to know.

“Your Majesty,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “Did Loki… did he say anything to you last night?”

There is a long silence, and you can feel her gaze on your back.

“Loki and I often speak late into the night. He is my son. Why do you ask?”

You shake your head, unable to turn around. “No reason. Just… a silly concern.”

“He is a prince of Asgard. He will do his duty, as will you. But duty does not have to be a cage, my dear. Sometimes, it is a key. You just have to find the right lock.” She doesn't confirm nor deny, only gives you a piece of her own kind of cryptic wisdom. “Go on. Don’t keep your mother waiting.”

She may not be Loki’s blood, but she is as adept at weaving words as he is. You find it almost hard to believe the two of them aren't actually related.

With a final, curt nod, you leave.

***

The walls are closing in, the dress feels like a shroud, and the book of spells is a heavy weight in your lap. You’ve read — or rather, looked at — the same page three times. It makes no sense. The symbols are like nothing you’ve ever seen.

You feel a strange sense of loss, that a gift with such potential is completely out of your reach.

A bit like your life.

The guards outside your door stand like statues. You’re a prisoner in your own chambers, and your sentence is about to be carried out. Every tick of the ornate clock on the mantelpiece is a hammer blow against your heart.

Midday is drawing near, and still no Loki.

You keep replaying Frigga’s words in your mind.

Duty does not have to be a cage. Sometimes, it is a key.

It’s a pretty thought, but you can't make it fit. Your duty is to Thor. To Alfheim. To the alliance. Loki is the opposite of your duty. He is the locked door you’re not supposed to open, and you doubt the queen was encouraging you to pick the lock to that particular room.

And yet, she gave you the book.

Why? Was it a test? A message? Or just a mother’s quiet attempt to give you a sliver of power in a powerless situation?

You have this aching suspicion that she knows. Not the specifics, perhaps, but the shape of the thing. If Thor of all peoplesaw what was between you, the woman who raised the God of Mischief must have some inkling. And instead of forbidding it, she armed you. The thought is more terrifying than comforting.

You rise from the sofa, needing to move. You pace the length of the room, the silk of your dress whispering against the stone floor. You stop at the window, looking down at the grounds. Thousands if not tens of thousands of your own people have gathered. You see their brightly colored clothes, a stark contrast to the muted earth tones of Asgard. They are here to see their princess marry a god. They are here for the celebration. They don’t see the fear. They don't see the cage. They only see hope for a better future.

You wonder if Thor is watching from some high balcony. You wonder if he feels as sick as you do.

A wave of vertigo hits you, and you grip the windowsill to steady yourself.

This is it. This is the rest of your life. You will live here, in this golden palace, as the wife of a man whoms brother you love.

Would it be possible for you to live such a life?

Could you stand in a court and watch Loki whisper secrets in another’s ear? Could you share a table with him and your husband and pretend your heart wasn’t being carved from your chest, piece by painful piece? Could you bear children with Thor and look at them, knowing that every single one of them is a symbol of a choice you made out of fear?

You close your eyes, willing the tears away for what feels like the thousandth time.

When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the little elven children running among the crowd, their clothes no longer the rags they wore the day of the wedding announcement. They are dressed in fine fabrics, their hair clean and neatly braided. They are laughing.

You did that. Your sacrifice is already giving them something better. You cannot forget that.

In that instant, a resolve hardens within you. You were not raised to be a selfish woman. You were not raised to follow your heart. You were raised to lead and to protect your people, no matter the cost to yourself. It is a cold comfort, but it is a comfort nonetheless.

You are a princess of Alfheim, and you will do your duty. You will stand before the Allfather and you will say the words. You will take Thor’s hand and you will smile. And you will learn to be happy with it, or you will learn to be a very good actress.

But the thought still does not bring you any semblance of peace. That’s when you know, with a certainty that chills you to the bone, that the ache for Loki will not simply go away.

Damn the orders to not leave your chambers. You need fresh air. You know this place like the back of your hand, you know a servant's corridor that'll lead you to a secluded balcony, and with the wedding chaos it's unlikely you'll run into anyone.

You quell the hope in your heart that he might be there. It is too dangerous a hope to have. You are simply going to calm your nerves before the ceremony. That is all.

You slip out of your chambers, giving the guards a dismissive wave of your hand as if you have every right to be leaving. To your surprise, they don't question you, merely bowing their heads as you pass. Perhaps your status as the future queen is already granting you some small freedoms.

You navigate the familiar corridors with a practiced ease, your feet knowing the way even when your mind is a mess of static. The servant's passage is empty, as you expected, and you push open the heavy wooden door at the end of it. And—

“I don’t want to hear a lecture on being out of my rooms. I just needed—"

“Oh my gods!” You shriek, quickly turning away as your eyes land on the one person you definitely were not expecting to run into.

“I didn’t see, I swear!” Thor’s familiar, deep voice says, sounding as shocked as you are. You hear a rustle from behind you, and you don’t have to look to know he is also turning his back. “… did you?”

It was an old custom that extended from realm to realm — a bride and groom were not to see each other on the day of the wedding, lest they bring about bad luck. Though a silly superstition, you didn’t want to tempt fate. Not that things could get any worse.

"No! I mean, I didn't look properly! Just your back," you stammer, face burning with embarrassment. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be preparing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he shoots back. "I came to think. This seemed a good a place as any. What's your excuse?"

"Same as you."

An awkward silence stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the crowds and the frantic beating of your own heart. This isn't how it's supposed to be. You're supposed to be full of romantic anticipation, and he's supposed to be… well, not standing with you on a secluded balcony, possibly struggling with the same things as you.

You risk a glance over your shoulder, careful to keep your eyes trained on the floor. From what you can see he in his ceremonial armor, the polished gold gleaming in the sunlight. He looks every bit the hero, the god, the prince. He looks like the future king of Asgard.

"You're wearing your armor," you say, stating the obvious as you try to break the tension.

“Hey! You said you didn’t see!”

“I didn’t see your face,” you retort, feeling a spark of your old self rise to the surface. “I do have peripheral vision.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that feels surprisingly genuine. “Fair enough. You are wearing your dress.” He pauses, and you can feel his gaze on the back of your head. “It’s… a very blue dress.”

“It is,” you agree, a small smile touching your lips. “it’s the color of royalty in my realm. My mother chose it. She called it ‘acceptable.’”

“She’s a hard woman to please.”

“She has to be,” you reply. “Our realm isn't as prosperous as Asgard. A single mistake could cost us everything.”

“Yes… I know,” he sympathizes.

A beat, and then,

"Thor..” your voice is barely a whisper. "Are you scared?"

He is silent for so long that you think he isn't going to answer. Then, he sighs, a weary sound.

"Terrified," he admits, and the vulnerability in his voice is so raw, it catches you off guard. "I've fought monsters. I've battled giants. I've seen the birth of stars. But this… this is different. This is… forever."

Forever.

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

"I'm terrified too," you confess. It's the truth, and it's a relief to finally say it out loud.

You finally turn fully around, keeping your gaze fixed on the horizon. The golden spires of Asgard glitter in the sun, a breathtaking sight that does nothing to calm your nerves.

He's still facing away from you, a mountain of a man with shoulders that seem to carry the weight of the Nine Realms.

"My brother came to see me this morning.”

The casual way he mentions Loki sends a jolt through you.

You try to keep your voice steady.

“Oh?”

"He told me I was a fool," Thor continues, a wry humor in his tone. "He told me I was trading a lifetime of freedom for a lifetime of… well, you."

You flinch, a sharp pain lancing through your chest. "That sounds like him."

"He also told me that you were the most intelligent, infuriating, and stubborn woman he had ever met.” Thor’s voice drops, becoming more serious. “And that if I hurt you, he would personally see to it that my entrails were used to decorate the great hall.”

Despite the gruesome image, a hysterical bubble of laughter escapes your lips.

“He’s protective of you,” he acknowledges, but it sounds like the words of a man that has known it for years. It sounds like you are the last one to know.

You nod, the motion feeling almost automatic. You have no idea what to say. It feels as though every path your conversation can take is leading you someplace you can't bear to go.

"What do you want me to say to that?" you ask, unable to keep the bite from your tone. Your nerves are frayed. Your heart is raw. You feel like you're on the edge of a knife.

"Nothing," he says, a gentle reassurance. "I just want you to know that I don't plan on hurting you. Not intentionally."

Your throat constricts with emotion. He is not saying anything you didn't already know, but to hear it spoken aloud is like a balm.

He isn't Loki, but he is still your friend. The thought of spending the rest of your life with him isn't the worst fate… but it's also not the one you want.

"You are not a fool, Thor," you say, your voice soft. "And I am sorry if I made you feel like one."

You don’t know the extent of what he knows, or how much he understands, but he seems to accept your words as the apology they are.

“Let's just… can we just be Thor and you? For five minutes. Before we have to be them."

The prince and the princess. The symbols. The alliance.

You turn around, slowly, giving him a chance to object. He doesn't. You keep your eyes fixed on the middle of his chest plate, until you eventually build the courage to face him. His blue eyes, usually so full of bluster and confidence, are filled with a depth of emotion that you didn't know he was capable of.

You see your own fear reflected back at you.

You extend your hand. "Hi. I'm me.”

He takes your hand, dwarfing it with his own. His grip is strong, but surprisingly gentle. A God, but also a man. A good man.

"Hi," he says. "I'm me, too."

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite everything. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been told."

He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back, a silent acknowledgment of all the things you can't say out loud.

You let go, your fingers trailing across his palm before slipping away completely.

You are both making this choice. You will both live with it and find whatever happiness you can.

But the thought keeps turning over and over in your mind.

Thor.

Your best friend.

"Have you spoken to Sif?” you blurt. "Is she..."

You trail off, unable to finish the sentence. You don’t even know what you’re trying to ask.

Is she okay? Is she angry? Is she hurt?

“Ay," he admits, and there's a deep sadness in his tone. "She is not angry with you, nor me. She is angry with the fates, and I cannot fault her for that.”

A fresh wave of guilt hits you, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your gaze drops to your feet.

He sighs, and when he speaks again, there is a forced levity in his voice. "Have you spoken to my brother?"

“Not today,” you admit, your heart clenching painfully at the question.

You want to tell him about the garden. You want to tell him how Loki looked, how he sounded, how he made you feel. Thor is your best friend, after all. But you can't. And that makes it hurt all the more.

He nods, a resigned kind of acceptance. "You know, he wont hate you,”

You shake your head, unwilling to let yourself think about it. "He already does."

He raises an eyebrow. "You truly believe that?"

"I know it."

His gaze softens, his eyes full of a gentle sympathy that you want to cling to. "Then you don't know my brother as well as I thought."

"Thor, I—"

A bell echoes throughout the palace grounds, signaling the hour. The wedding is about to begin. You feel like a noose has just been tightened around your neck.

He glances over his shoulder at the door. "We should—"

"Yes. Yes, we should," you finish.

Before anything, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He stiffens in surprise, but his arms come up around you after a moment. His embrace is comforting, and you lean into it. You are so tired of being strong. For a brief moment, you let yourself be weak.

"This doesn't change anything," you murmur into his shoulder, knowing it's not strictly the truth. But maybe you can make it true if you say it often enough. Maybe you can force it into existence. "You're still my best friend. You'll always be my best friend."

He squeezes you tightly. "And you mine."

You pull away, keeping your hands on his forearms. Your eyes meet, and there is an unspoken understanding between the two of you that neither of you wanted this.

At the very least, if you were to spend your life bound to a man who was not the one you willingly chose, you could do so with someone who felt the same way.

You take a steadying breath and step back.

“Okay, you first. I'll wait a few minutes before following. Just in case, because—"

"Our mothers would have our heads," he agrees with a small smile. "Very well."

He turns and walks through the heavy wooden door, leaving you alone on the balcony.

You take a deep breath, smoothing down your dress.

This is it. This is the rest of your life.

You close your eyes and remember Lokis face — the expression he may never wear for you again. You commit every detail to memory, even though it hurts.

You open your eyes, you straighten your shoulders, you square your jaw, and you walk back inside to get married.

***

The ceremony takes place in the great hall. It's the same hall where the Allfather announced the treaty all those years ago. However, it is unrecognizable now.

The golden pillars are adorned with garlands of flowers. The high ceiling glitters with thousands of tiny lights, like stars in the night sky. The tables and chairs are gone, replaced by rows of benches, filled with nobility from all the Nine Realms. And in the front of the room, beneath a golden canopy, stands the Allfather, regal as ever.

You walk down the aisle, your gaze fixed on Odin. If you look at the people, you might panic. If you look at Thor, you might cry. And if you look at the youngest prince, standing stoically beside the throne, you might forget what you are doing all of this for.

The heavy fabric of your dress trails behind you, the sound of it muted behind the soft violets of the court musicians. The whispers of the crowd are a low hum in your ears, but you can hear some of the comments as you pass.

"My gods, she's so beautiful!"

"She looks like a queen already."

"Do you think they'll be blessed with children soon?"

Your face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. You feel like an animal on display. You have been in this palace for years, and these people still look at you as if you are some exotic curiosity.

Grima and your mother are waiting at the base of the steps to the throne. Your mother looks positively regal in her gown of white and gold. She gives you a small nod of approval, which is more than you expected and you feel a strange sort of pride that she seems pleased with you. Perhaps she'll be a little less cold after today.

She takes your arm and guides you up the stairs, into position. You stand facing Thor, your eyes fixed on his chest plate. It feels safer than looking at his face.

Odin's voice booms through the hall, echoing off the high stone walls. "We are gathered here today to witness the binding of two souls. Through this union, we will strengthen our ties to the realms, we will show our commitment to peace and prosperity, And we will ensure that the realms will stand together against any enemy that might threaten them."

His words wash over you, feeling both distant and far too close. You barely hear him recite the ancient words.

It seems only a few seconds later that Thor takes your hand, and you know it is time for the exchange of vows. You look up at him, and his gaze is fixed on yours as Odin speaks.

"Do you, Princess of Alfheim, vow to serve Asgard as their future queen? To lead with wisdom and compassion, and to protect your people until you are pardoned from your duties by either death or decree?"

Your throat feels dry. The words stick in your mouth, and for one awful moment, you think you may not be able to say them.

“I—” you begin, your voice barely audible.

Your eyes stray without meaning to, and they finally land on Loki. He is standing to Odin's right, his expression unreadable.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He is so close, yet he seems a million miles away.

There is an expectant hush in the room as everyone awaits your answer, but you cannot look away.

You see it then. A flicker of something in his eyes.

Hope.

His gaze drops to your hand, where Thor is holding it, and then back to your face. And there, in the space between heartbeats, is a question you thought you'd never see from him.

Do you want me to save you?

There is a flutter in your chest, because even after everything, he would do it. Consequences be damned.

You look out to the crowd, at the people you have fought so hard to protect. You think of your parents, and you think of Frigga, and you think of all the sacrifices they have made for their people. You think of the elven children in the marketplace, and you think of the countless lives that could be saved with the treaty.

The next person you make eye contact with is the Seer from the market. She is sitting in the front row, her eyes glittering like a serpent. And as she looks at you, she lifts her gnarled hand and holds one finger up.

"You will someday make a wise and brave queen." Her breathless whisper was her final prediction, voice cracking from age and abuse, "Though only in one of these worlds will that hold true, my lady. Choose wisely, for once you choose, you will commit."

Oh, how badly do you want to be selfish. One look and you know that Loki would conjure an illusion in a heartbeat, he would pull you down those steps and out of this hall, and he would not let go until you were both free. But clever as he may be, even he cannot outmaneuver fate.

“—I do.”

The words leave your lips before you can second guess yourself, but the crack in your voice is impossible to hide. You tear your gaze away from everyone and focus on Thor.

It isn’t until you blink that you realize tears are streaming down your face.

Everyone else would simply see a woman moved by the gravity of the moment. But Thor… Thor would see the truth. Thor would see that the tears were for his brother.

“Do you, Prince Thor Odinson, heir to the throne of Asgard, vow to stand beside the Princess of Alfheim as her husband? To honor her counsel, defend her kingdom as your own, and rule with her in wisdom until death or decree parts you?”

Silence.

His blue eyes search yours, and for a moment the crowded hall disappears. There is only the two of you, standing exactly where neither of you wishes to be.

He raises your joined hands to his lips, and kisses your knuckles. His beard tickles your skin, and you barely repress a shudder.

“…No.”

A ripple moves through the hall like thunder rolling across the mountains. Murmurs erupt from every corner of the chamber. Nobles rise from their seats, confused whispers swelling into open disbelief.

the sound of Gungnir striking the stone floor echoes through the room, silencing the crowd. Odin fixes his son with a stare that could split mountains.

“What did you say?”

Thor releases your hand and turns to face his father, his broad shoulders squared. His voice is steady and clear as he speaks.

"I said no, Father. I will not marry her."

You stare at him, unable to breathe.

“My son,” Odin warns.

Thor turns first to you. His expression is gentle, almost apologetic.

"My friend,” he says, quiet enough for only you to hear. “I do this for your sake as well as mine."

Then, he turns to the crowd, raising his hands for silence. A natural born leader. The hall immediately quiets, and he begins to speak.

“This marriage was never meant to unite two people. It was meant to unite two realms. And it is that union I wish to forge. I wish to honor the treaty between our realms, but I refuse to do so at the expense of our happiness."

What in gods name is he doing? You want to scream at him to stop, that this is foolishness, that you are already willing to make this sacrifice. But your tongue is tied to the roof of your mouth.

Your mother looks as though she has just seen a ghost. The Allfather looks like he might actually murder his son on the spot. Frigga, however, is the only person in the entire room who does not look surprised. She merely watches, her hands clasped calmly in front of her.

“The prince of Asgard still stands before you.”

Thor turns.

“Loki.”

Your blood freezes in your veins. You follow his gaze to the youngest prince that is still standing by the throne, and you watch as the full weight of Thor's words hits him.

“Loki possesses every right of royal blood that I do. He is a son of Asgard. If the purpose of this union is alliance, then the alliance need not die because I refuse to make prisoners of us both.”

Odin’s face hardens.

“Have you lost your senses?”

“No, Father.” Thor’s voice remains unwavering. “I have found them.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you realize what Thor is doing. He is offering you an out. A way to save the alliance without forcing either of you into a loveless marriage. And he is doing it at the risk of being exiled.

He is saving you both.

"Loki is a prince of Asgard," Thor continues. "He is my brother.”

It is such an ordinary word. One Thor has spoken a thousand times without thought, yet never has it carried such weight.

Not after Jotunheim.

Not after learning the blood in Loki’s veins did not match the blood that raised him.

Every eye drifts to Loki, waiting to see if he will deny it, reject it, or disappear behind one of his carefully crafted masks.

He does none of those things.

He simply stares at Thor, as though he no longer understands the language he is speaking.

He doesn’t move.

For once, the God of Mischief has no clever retort waiting on his tongue. The carefully practiced mask he wears before the court has cracked. Disbelief flickers across his face, chased quickly by something far more vulnerable.

Forgiveness.

Fear.

They wage war behind his eyes.

“If this alliance is to endure, let it be built upon truth rather than sacrifice.” Thor’s gaze shifts between you and Loki. “I ask that the crown recognize Prince Loki as my equal in this matter and permit him to take my place.”

“You would surrender your claim?” Loki asks quietly, his voice stripped of every ounce of wit.

Thor smiles a tired, familiar smile that reminds you of two boys racing through palace corridors long before crowns and kingdoms demanded pieces of them.

“No,” he answers. “Only what was never mine to begin with.”

Odin’s face darkens, every trace of composure vanishing beneath the weight of wounded pride “Enough!” he thunders.

“You presume to dictate affairs of state before the assembled Nine Realms?” Odin narrows his eye, staring down his son with a look that would cower a lesser man. “You would cast aside years of negotiation for the sake of sentiment?”

“Do you ask me as my king…” Thor’s voice is calm, carrying to every corner of the chamber. “…or as my father?”

Odin says nothing.

“If you ask me as my king, then hear your heir.” He gestures toward you and then toward Loki. “The treaty remains intact. Alfheim shall still be joined to the House of Odin. The alliance is preserved. Nothing is lost but my place at the altar.”

His tone softens, pleading.

“But if you ask me as my father… then I beg you to look at your sons.”

Odin hesitates, and for a moment, his iron façade crumbles. His gaze flicks from Thor to Loki.

Two princes.

Two sons.

One standing with his shoulders squared against the weight of a kingdom.

The other standing impossibly still, as though moving might shatter the fragile hope that had settled over him.

At last, Odin exhales.

“…Very well.”

A murmur ripples through the gathered court.

“The alliance shall stand… If Prince Loki is willing to accept the duty his brother relinquishes…”

Loki doesn’t hesitate.

“I am.”

Your heart thunders against your ribs as Odin turns to you. "Princess, do you consent to this arrangement?"

You are not sure what compels you to look to Frigga first. You aren’t certain why it is her gaze that you seek for confirmation, but it is. The queen of Asgard gives you a small nod of approval. And with that, you turn back to Odin.

"Yes," you say, your voice only wavering slightly. This time, the words come easily. “I do.”

Odin studies his oldest son for a long moment before giving a single nod.

“Then take your brother’s place.”

Thor steps aside, leaving the center of the dais open.

Loki descends the stairs and pauses in front of you. There is so much unspoken between the two of you. So many questions, so many emotions, so many things that could go wrong. But he is looking at you with an expression that makes you almost calm, and there is only one thing left to do.

You offer your hand to him, palm up. He looks at you like he doesn't believe you're real. His fingers tremble as he reaches for you, slowly sliding his hand into yours.

Just like the first time you ever touched him, you feel that familiar spark ignite at the contact.

With rapid clarity you finally understood.

All this time, you had believed the prophecy asked you to choose between two princes, and in only one of those scenarios would you someday become queen. You had believed the fates were demanding you sacrifice your happiness for the good of your people.

But the truth is so much simpler.

So much more beautiful.

The court would still bow. They would still call you “Your Majesty.” But only one of those women would answer without wondering who she might have been.

“Well,” he says, his voice low, meant only for you. He tilts his head and that familiar smirk tugs at his lips. "This is an unexpected turn of events."

***

You are married to Loki.

The binding had been made, the vows exchanged. Despite all odds, the peace treaty remained intact.

The feast had stretched long into the day, overflowing with music, laughter, and enough mead to convince the court that perhaps this strange turn of events had been fate all along. Lords who had expected to toast Thor instead now raised their goblets to Loki without hesitation, and though he wore his usual composed expression, you caught him glancing over the crowd now and then as though waiting for someone to declare the whole thing an elaborate illusion.

No one did. The marriage was real. Which left only one tradition still to fulfill.

Your ladies fuss over you in the antechamber, their chatter filling the room while deft fingers tug pins from your hair. Golden ornaments clink softly into waiting trays, followed by jeweled combs and the heavy ceremonial veil that had rested upon your head throughout the day.

“There,” one of them murmurs, running a brush through the loose waves cascading down your back. “Much better.”

Another laughs. “Her Highness looks terrified.”

“I am not,” you reply automatically.

The women exchange amused glances.

“You are,” one says gently. “Every bride is.”

You couldn’t exactly explain that the ceremony itself wasn’t what had your stomach tied into knots. It was everything that had led to this moment.

This morning, you had sat believing you were about to spend a lifetime with one brother. Now, as another maid slipped a simple ivory robe over your shoulders in place of the elaborate wedding gown, you found yourself preparing to share a bed with the man you had spent years despising.

The irony was almost laughable.

Had anyone told the girl who used to argue with Loki over every imagined slight that one day she would become his wife, she would have accused them of madness. But life in Asgard had grown unexpectedly, unbearably strange.

“All done,” your head lady says softly, fastening a simple gold chain around your throat. “You are ready, my lady.”

You look at your reflection.

The woman staring back at you hardly resembled the princess who had entered the hall that morning. Gone was the dread and the carefully rehearsed smile. In their place lingered a sort of calm.

“My father and mother won’t be in attendance, right?” you ask, turning away from the mirror.

You knew the customs, of course. But given the circumstances of this marriage — the sudden switch of grooms, the rushed ceremony, the political maneuvering beneath it all — you found yourself unable to stop double-checking every detail.

“No, my lady,” the head lady assures. “The traditions are clear. The bride and grooms relatives are not permitted beyond the threshold. The final rite is to only be witnessed by the officials and the elders of your two realms.”

Relief washes over you stronger than you expect, but it is quickly followed by another wave of nerves. “And the marriage will only be officially recognized once—”

“Once it has been witnessed that the union has been completed,” she finishes. “Yes.”

You nod slowly. The ceremony in front of the court meant little in Asgardian law. Without this final tradition, the marriage could be dissolved. All is not yet done, which means there is still time for it to all fall apart.

A Knock at the door echoes through the small room, and one of the younger maids scurries to open it. Your father stands there. His expression is neutral, but the lines etched around his eyes are deep as though the day had aged him years.

“Leave us,” he orders.

Your ladies bow deeply, then file out with soft steps, closing the doors behind them.

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. He just studies you in the way only a father could — as though he’s trying to reconcile the child he raised with the woman standing before him now.

“Is mother upset?” you ask, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Your mother is… adjusting,” he says, stepping forward. “She had planned this day differently.”

His answer does not surprise you. It mattered not that Thor said no out of love for another, only that you had not been enough to secure the marriage.

She had planned your entire life differently, and your wedding to Thor had been the culmination of decades of alliance building. And while the treaty itself remained intact, the entire foundation had shifted beneath everyone’s feet.

You are not guaranteed to be future queen of Asgard anymore. Loki is not the heir, not the one who would inherit Asgard lest Thor’s disobedience to Odin’s orders cost him his place. The political implications of this marriage are complex, and though your own realm would gain a powerful connection through you, it would never be the one your mother envisioned.

“Are you upset?” you ask, finally meeting his gaze.

He shakes his head. “No. I am not.”

He steps close, reaching out to adjust the chain at your neck. His fingers linger against your collarbone for a moment, then drop.

“Your mother has never been good at adapting,” he says quietly. “She forgets that the tides shift and a queen who does not change with them drowns. You are different than her.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of the little girl who had always tried so hard to be what her parents wanted.

“You do not think it is.. dishonorable?” you ask.

“Dishonorable to make peace? To save lives?” he scoffs. “No. You were not the one to make the mess, child. You simply made the most of it.”

He smooths the front of your robe, and the familiar gesture brings tears to your eyes. He used to do this when you were small — pat down your dress before you went into formal events, straighten your hair, wipe a smudge of dirt from your cheek. But the tenderness in his touch now is heavier, layered with years of regret and a quiet pride he rarely voiced aloud.

“But I must ask… are you truly alright with this?” he asks. “I’ve heard no complaints from you. You’ve accepted this union with Loki with a grace I would not expect.”

You realize for the first time that beneath all the political maneuvering and duty, he is simply a father asking the question that matters most. The question he cannot ask in front of a court or even your mother.

“Would it matter?” you ask softly. “If I wasn’t?”

A beat passes.

“Not to the realm,” he admits finally. “But it would matter to me.”

Something in your chest tightens, and although you have shed most of the tension of the day, the threat of tears rises again. You blink them back quickly.

“I know that my birth was never a matter of personal joy,” you say, testing the words that have lived unspoken between you for years. “It was political strategy. My very existence is a treaty.”

Your father exhales slowly, and his face shows a strain you rarely see. “That is a burden no child should bear. Yet you have, and I am… so sorry for it.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, throat tight.

“You have spent your entire life preparing for a role. The daughter, the diplomat, the future queen of Asgard through Thor,” he says, stepping back slightly. “I never taught you how to be yourself.”

Your mind races back through years of lessons. Etiquette, diplomacy, history, warfare, political strategy. The things that would make you valuable. Useful. But never once had someone asked you what you wanted.

“It matters not now,” you say, forcing steadiness into your tone.

“I am not finished,” he says gently. “I have spent my years as a king trying to secure alliances. But I have spent my nights as a father worrying about my daughter. And tonight, I find myself wishing I had worried less about the alliance and more about you.”

He reaches out and takes your hands. His palms are rough, but his grip is steady.

“I have no right to say this,” he says, “but I will. If Loki ever harms you—”

“He won’t,” you interrupt quietly. “He’s not what everyone thinks.”

Your father raises an eyebrow. “You believe that?”

“I do.”

“Then I will trust your judgment.” He releases your hands. “But know this: if you find you cannot bear this life, if you need an escape, you need only send word. I will come for you. Whatever the cost.”

You stare at him, stunned. This is the first unconditional offer you have ever received. The one thing he cannot offer as a king, he is giving you as a father.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick.

He nods, and no more words are needed between you. He simply holds out his arm, and you take it.

The halls are quieter now. As you walk, the torchlight flickers off the golden walls, making your shadows dance and merge on the polished floor.

Your father is silent, and you are grateful for it. There is nothing left to say that can prepare you for what comes next.

When you reach the doors leading to the Hall of Concord, two guards straighten, their faces impassive. Your father stops before them, then turns to you.

“Your mother and I leave for our realm tonight. This will be the last I see of you until the next solstice, unless you send word sooner.”

Your mother did not even intend to stay to say goodbye. A familiar pang of disappointment settles in your chest, though it is duller than it once would have been.

“Travel safely,” you say.

“And you,” he gives you one last lingering look. “Be well, my child.”

Then he is gone, striding away down the hall without a backward glance. You watch him until he turns the corner, then turn to face the doors.

Now or never.

Warm light spills into the corridor as the doors are pushed opened, carrying with it the low murmur of conversation and the faint perfume of burning incense. You step inside, your breath catching despite yourself.

The chamber stretched farther than you’d expected, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow above. It was the one room in Asgard you’d never been permitted to see before this day.

You had heard tales of it, of course. The floor was said to be made of a single, massive slab of obsidian so polished it reflected the open starlit sky above.

At its center, upon a raised dais, rests the ceremonial bed.

It is draped in ivory linen embroidered with silver vines and golden leaves, the canopy above woven with the banners of both Asgard and Alfheim. Fresh blossoms spill across the coverlet — a bit over the top, even for Asgard. But you have learned that when it comes to their traditions, Asgardians do nothing halfway.

Around the dais stand the assembled witnesses. The royal steward occupies a place of honor at the head of the room several feet from the bed, while the elder nobles and respected families of both realms form a wide semicircle beyond.

It is easy to lose your nerve when everyone is looking at you. But when your eyes find Loki, a strange calm descends.

He stands near the foot of the dais, alone and apart from everyone else. Gone are the ceremonial layers he’d worn during the wedding, exchanged for garments befitting the final rite. A simple robe to match yours — only of a deep forest green. His hair, no longer pulled back in the formal arrangement of earlier, fall in dark waves across his shoulders.

He looks less like a prince and more like a statue carved from night itself, all sharp angles and quiet grace.

As the doors close behind you with a heavy thud, the conversation ceases. Every eye turns toward you and you have to resist the urge to fidget with the chain at your neck or straighten the nonexistent wrinkles in your robe. Instead you lift your chin and walk forward, your steps echoing in the sudden silence of the hall.

You come to a stop before Loki, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him but not quite touching. The air between you is charged, alive with the unspoken and the unknown.

“All rise,” the Stewards voice booms. “We are gathered here tonight for the final rite of union, witnessed and recorded in the halls of Asgard and the courts of Alfheim.”

His gaze sweeps over you, then over Loki, but there is no warmth in it. Only the cold, steady assessment of a man whose only care is protocol and the preservation of tradition.

“In accordance with ancient laws and for the security of the realms, the bride and groom shall consummate the marriage here tonight, in the presence of their witnesses.”

You can feel a light flush begin to creep up your neck, and you fight to keep your expression neutral. It is one thing to understand the tradition intellectually, quite another to hear it spoken aloud.

“Only once the union has been sealed will the treaty be binding and the marriage recognized by all Nine Realms,” he concludes. “What is done here tonight cannot be undone.”

Loki hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you entered the room, and as the man speaks, one side of his mouth curves into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

“Nervous?” he murmurs, so softly that only you can hear.

“Of you? Never,” you murmur back, matching his quiet tone.

His smirk widens into a genuine smile that reaches his eyes, making them glitter in the torchlight. “Liar.”

The formal words come to an end, and with them everyone takes their seats.

Loki does not ask to take your hand this time, instead reaching for it with the ease of one who knows it is already his. You allow your fingers to curl around his as he pulls you up the dais toward the bed, where he then pauses to regard you.

His other hand comes up to brush a stray hair from your face. It lingers there for a moment, tracing along your cheekbone and coming to rest just below your ear.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, his voice pitched for you alone.

Recklessly so, you think. But you do not say it aloud. Instead, you tilt your head slightly into his touch and answer with a sure nod.

He leans in close until his lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. The feeling sends a shiver down your spine, and your eyes flutter shut of their own accord.

He smells of leather and cedar, clean and woodsy. Something you could lose yourself in if you were not careful, and you have never been careful with him.

His breath is warm as it ghosts along your skin.

"Good.”

His hand comes up to cup your other cheek and he kisses you slowly, languidly. His mouth moves with agonizing tenderness against yours, his lips brushing over yours again and again with the lightest touch.

Somewhere in the dizziness, your hands find his chest and curl into the fabric of his robe. You cling to it like a lifeline, anchoring yourself against the gentle assault of his mouth.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you end up on the bed, only that at some point you are no longer standing but laying with your head pillowed on the softest pillows you have ever known.

Loki still stands above you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he reaches to untie the sash at his waist. The robe falls open to reveal smooth planes of pale skin and taut muscle, and you have to resist the urge to reach out and trace your fingers along the lines of his abdomen as you did what now impossibly felt like a lifetime ago.

He lets the garment drop from his shoulders to pool on the ground at his feet, revealing the full expanse of him.

All glory and no shame. His lack of nerves come as little surprise; you doubt that Loki has ever had occasion to feel shy about his body. Nor should he.

Yourself, on the other hand...

You have never felt more exposed than you do in this moment, and your body has not even been laid bare yet.

Loki seems to sense your discomfort, because his expression softens as he climbs onto the bed to kneel over you.

“Express yourself,” he says, and it is not just Loki making a suggestion. It is the command of a Prince. “Use your tongue. What is it that has you worried so?”

You don't know where to start.

That you're not an Aesir.

That you have no claim to beauty or grace, not like the women he must have been with in the past.

That it will hurt.

That you will embarrass yourself.

That you will embarrass him.

What comes out instead is, "I'm... scared."

He leans closer, and for a moment you think he means to kiss you again. Instead his lips graze your cheek until they come to rest by your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shiver.

"Be more specific, princess.”

The way his voice rolls over you is enough to make your head swim.

You are suddenly hyper aware of everyone's eyes on you, and it makes you feel small and exposed. You know they cannot hear your words, but they can see the way you move, the way your expression changes. The thought makes your cheeks flush, and you close your eyes against the scrutiny of the room.

“They are watching us," you whisper. "It makes me nervous."

His fingers trace a slow line down the side of your neck before coming to rest over your pulse.

"You want them to stop?"

"Yes," you breathe.

He takes a deep breath, and you feel the warmth of it against your throat as he exhales.

"Then open your eyes."

You do, and it takes you a moment to realize what has happened.

The stands are empty. Gone are the nobles and the courtiers and the family. The only person who remains is Loki.

“What—” You start to sit up, but he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Illusion," he explains, smiling faintly. "They are still there, able able to see everything that goes on in this room. I'm afraid that part is unavoidable. But we can pretend, at least, that it is just the two of us."

You glance around the room again, marveling at how real it all seems.

"How long can you hold this?"

"Longer than you could imagine.” His lithe fingers begin tracing along the edge of the robe where it falls at your collarbone, dipping into the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you have other fantasies you would like me to indulge?"

"What else can you do?"

A slow grin spreads across his face.

"What can I not do, princess?" He slides your robe aside, exposing your shoulder to the chill of the air. "Perhaps I'll show you, some day."

“And why not today?"

His lips ghost across your collarbone as his hands move to the sash at your waist. He undoes it slowly, never taking his eyes off yours.

“Two lessons and you believe yourself ready for all I have to teach?"

You shiver as he slips the robe from your shoulders to pool beneath you, leaving you bare before him. He pauses a moment to look at you, his gaze roving over your body with such intensity that you have to fight not to shy away.

"Perhaps I'm eager to learn."

He makes a soft noise of amusement in the back of his throat as he lowers himself above you.

“Oh, darling. You haven't the faintest idea what you're asking for."

Your legs part of their own accord to allow him to settle between them, and he lowers his weight onto his forearms. The sudden feeling of his skin against skin makes you gasp, and his lips curve into a smile against your throat.

"I could take you to the ends of the universe and back, and you still wouldn't begin to comprehend the power at my fingertips." He pauses, seeming to consider his words. “Perhaps one day I'll show you just how far that power extends."

Your pulse quickens at the thought, and Loki chuckles as he feels it thrumming beneath your skin.

"Not tonight, princess," he murmurs, trailing kisses down the column of your throat. "Tonight I intend to do things properly, if only for your sake."

"I thought you didn't believe in doing things properly," you manage to rasp as he nips at your throat, eliciting a small sound from the back of your throat.

"Oh, I don't." He shifts slightly, and you feel the hard length of him against your thigh. He then presses forward until you are forced to spread your legs further apart to accommodate his hips. "But I've no desire to break you so soon after getting you."

His tongue traces a slow, languid line along the shell of your ear before he takes the lobe gently between his teeth. You gasp again, and this time the sound is accompanied by a breathy moan as you feel him slide between your folds, hot and heavy.

He hums with pleasure at your reaction, his voice low and smooth in your ear. "Does that feel good, princess?"

He pushes forward again and you nod, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"So eager," he purrs. "And to think, you were so reluctant to let me touch you before."

You open your mouth, but before you can find the nerve to say anything he trails his fingers down the side of your neck until they come to rest above the swell of your breast. He lets them linger there a moment, tracing light circles around your nipple before pinching it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

It's just enough pressure to make you arch your back with a soft cry, and Loki's chuckle sends a warm shiver running down your spine.

"Look at you, writhing beneath me like a wanton little thing.” His free hand comes up to tangle in your hair, his grip firm as he forces your head back, exposing your throat. "Have I created a monster?"

"Loki," you gasp, feeling the slow tug of pleasure between your legs as he tauntingly grinds his hips against yours. "Please."

The hand in your hair tightens. "Do you remember what I told you the first time you came to me for a lesson?"

You try to nod your head, but he holds you firmly in place.

"Answer me."

"Y-yes."

"Say it."

You close your eyes. "Patience is a virtue."

It was the second thing he’d taught you that night, after teaching you how to let go of shame.

The first you had nearly mastered — but patience? That would take much longer, and knowing you had all the time in the world, you know he will insist on being thorough.

Loki hums with approval, and his fingers release your nipple to trace a lazy line down the center of your chest.

"Are you patient?"

No.

"Yes," you breathe.

His laugh is deep and dark in your ear as his hand dips lower, teasing the soft skin just below your navel.

"Is that so?"

"I can be," you insist.

His fingers come to rest at the apex of your thighs, where you ache the most, and he makes no effort to disguise his amusement as you instinctively press yourself against his hand.

"Mmm, I see. Shall I test your mettle, then?"

His fingers finally, finally, slide between your folds to stroke your aching clit and you moan as they begin circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing you mercilessly. It isn’t much longer until you give a small cry as he slips one inside, the sound echoing through the “empty” chamber.

This isn’t tradition.

He pumps slowly, in and out, curling his finger up to brush against the spot that makes you whimper with need.

Tradition dictates that this is supposed to be clinical, quick. It does not require that the groom take the time to play with his bride before he finally sinks inside her. In fact, you are certain that Loki is going well beyond the call of duty here.

But there is no way in Hel that you are going to stop him.

He watches your face carefully as he adds a second finger, stretching you so as he begins to pump a little faster. You gasp softly as his thumb joins his fingers to stroke your clit in slow circles, drawing the pressure out with agonizing tenderness.

“So tight,” he murmurs, and it sounds as if the words have been drawn out of him against his will. “I know not how I am meant to fit myself inside you."

You open your mouth to say something clever in return, but it dissolves into a soft cry as you feel another finger slip inside. It is slightly painful now, but it is tempered by the pleasure of feeling full. He holds still for a moment, allowing you time to adjust, before he resumes the steady rhythm.

You can't remember what it was that you meant to say.

Your head is thrown back, the muscles in your neck straining as you arch against his hand. The only sound in the room is the harsh panting of your breath and the wet squelch of his fingers moving in and out of you.

You feel the tightness building low in your stomach, but you can't seem to find the words to warn him. Instead all you can do is moan, and it spills from your mouth again and again as you try to find purchase on the sheets.

He takes one of your hands in his free one, entwining your fingers together, and pins it above your head. His other hand continues its relentless assault on your body, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge.

It's too much. It's too much.

"Loki," you gasp. "I — I —"

And then his lips are crashing down on yours, swallowing the rest of your sentence. The sudden pressure is enough to send you hurtling over the edge, and you come undone with a silent cry.

Your head is spinning as he pulls away, his breathing slightly labored, and you watch as he lifts his fingers to his lips to lick them clean. Just as he had the first night you spent with him.

You distantly wonder if the invisible crowd can see the familiarity with which he does it, or if that knowledge is just for you.

He lowers himself above you, and you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.

"Look at me," he commands softly.

You do.

"Are you ready?"

You nod, and his expression softens.

"I want to hear you say it. Do you want this?"

You take a deep breath.

Is it not too late? You are already naked and exposed and laid bare before him.

Could you turn back now, even if you wanted to?

He seems to sense your hesitation, because he lets go of your wrist to cup your cheek. it helps you to focus.

“Stop thinking of your people. Think of only yourself, here with me, in this moment. For once in your life, do something selfish." His thumb strokes lightly over your cheekbone, and his eyes search your face. "Do you want me?"

There is only one answer.

"Yes."

He lowers his head until his lips are hovering just above yours, but he makes no move to close the distance. Instead he stays there, suspended in space as if waiting for something.

It takes a moment to realize what he is waiting for.

You lift your chin and press your lips to his, tentatively at first. When he does not pull away, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and letting your tongue trace along the seam of his mouth. He opens to you, allowing you access, and you slide your tongue against his with a small sigh.

He groans against your mouth as the hot, velvet weight of his cock stretches your entrance. You can't help the gasp that escapes you as he slides in inch by agonizing inch.

Finally, when he is fully sheathed inside you, he breaks the kiss to murmur softly against your lips.

“I promised you three lessons," His voice is a low rumble. "Let this be the last one.”

Letting go of shame, learning to service, and…

“What is this one?" you manage to choke.

"Surrender," he breathes, and you cry out as he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back into you.

Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder as you cling to him, anchoring yourself against the sudden onslaught of sensation.

He sets a slow, steady pace. His thrusts are not punishing, but they deep and thorough. Your body has never felt so full. So complete.

You don’t know when it happened, but somehow your hands have found their way into his hair as you cling to him, unable to form a coherent thought beyond more. More. More.

It doesn’t hurt as you feared. In fact, there is no pain at all. Just an unexplainable thing, like the feeling of stretching before a long run or the slight burn of sore muscles after training. It feels strange and new, but not unpleasant.

And then it feels... good.

He takes his time, slowly rocking into you with a measured kind of gentleness that you would not have expected from a God who is known for his lack of restraint. He touches you everywhere he can reach as if trying to memorize every inch of you. And you touch him too, because he is yours now, and you have the right.

Your fingers slide over his arms, his chest, his shoulders. They tangle in his hair then trace along his jaw. They find his back, his hips, the curve of his ass. They roam wherever they please, leaving small marks in their wake.

He does not seem to mind.

At some point he takes your hand and guides it between your legs, urging you to touch yourself as he watches with a hooded gaze.

And you do, because he asks it of you.

Another break of custom, and one that comes uncharacteristically naturally.

Is it truly so easy to abandon the formalities and the rigid expectations you’ve been trained to follow your entire life? You never even knew such an option existed.

You wonder if this is who you really are. If perhaps this was the version of you that had always been there, hidden beneath the skin and just waiting for someone to free it.

Your entire life you have been a person who obeys rules and traditions and decorum. Even here, on your wedding night, you have followed them dutifully.

But with him it is different. With him you do not feel bound by the things that have always governed you. With him you feel free.

It is a revelation, and it sends you soaring.

“You, princess of Alfheim and Asgard, are going to be the death of me," Loki groans, and his voice is little more than a broken whisper.

His words send a jolt through you and you tighten around him, drawing a low moan from his throat.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, where it seems to fit so perfectly, as if it was meant to be there all along. He presses an open mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear as his hips begin to move faster, harder. His thrusts are becoming erratic, and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“I am yours. Say it."

"You are mine," you whisper.

"Again."

"You are mine, Loki."

It is as if he is still seeking reassurance even now.

And he is yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Just as you are his… but he has given you something more than that. Something no one has ever given you before.

You are not just a wife that belongs to him. You are a woman that wants to be, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Your hand finds his cheek and you turn his face toward you until your noses are brushing and his breath is mingling with yours.

"I am yours," you say again, and you hope he understands what you mean by it.

I love you.

It’s a startling thought, but not one that is entirely foreign.

In truth you think you might have loved him all along, from that very first day when you arrived at the palace as a girl and he had — albeit begrudgingly — given you a tour of the grounds.

All the arguments and the sharp words. Every time he had delighted in getting beneath your skin, only to linger long after he had left the room.

You had mistaken constancy for conflict.

Everyone else eventually yielded to you. They bowed because you were a princess. They agreed because it was easier. They smiled politely and told you what they thought you wished to hear.

Loki never did.

He questioned you. Challenged you. Infuriated you. He was the only one who ever met your fire with his own.

And somehow, in all those years of bickering and barbed remarks, neither of you had realized you were doing the same thing over and over again:

Finding your way back to one another.

Perhaps love had never arrived all at once. It had grown quietly in the spaces between the things you didn't say and the way your eyes always found his across a room.

You love him.

You love him and looking back on it now, you cannot remember a time when you didn’t.

And you have surrendered.

You let go of everything that has held you back for so long and allow yourself to fall. Surprisingly, it is not frightening. It is exhilarating and freeing and everything you ever needed.

All you must do is follow.

And you do, tumbling headlong into your own desire. You come undone for the second time with his name on your lips, and you are dimly aware of his answering groan as you clench around him, sending him hurtling over the edge with you.

As the world begins to right itself around you, you become aware of Loki's breathing. It is ragged, harsh, as if he had just run a great distance or fought a long battle. You are not far behind him.

Carefully, he pulls out of you. The sudden emptiness makes you shiver, but in one swift motion he pulls you up until both of you are positioned upright in the center of the bed. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and he holds you close, his face buried in your hair.

“You alright?" he murmurs softly, and you nod.

The moment seems to stretch on forever, but in reality it can only be a few heartbeats before he reluctantly lets go and pulls away.

“Are you ready to face them?” he asks, glancing pointedly at the empty stands where everyone else waits.

Your eyes follow his, and you take a deep breath.

"Yes," you answer, and this time you are certain of it.

He nods, and the room slowly fades back into focus. The weight of a thousand eyes becomes a physical thing that settles on your shoulders like a cloak as the illusion dissolves completely, revealing the stands once again filled with people.

Some of them looked beyond shocked. Some were even looking away, their expressions ranging from scandalized to embarrassed. Others did not bother to hide the way their eyes were locked on the two of you, curiosity and something akin to hunger on their faces.

The Royal Steward steps forward, his face red as he clears his throat. "With this, the final rite of union is complete.” He hesitates for a moment before adding, "On behalf of Asgard and Alfheim, we thank you."

You watch as the Royal Steward bows, and the rest of the stands quickly follow suit.

"I believe that is our cue," Loki says, and there is an amused note in his voice.

In a flash of emerald light, your robes settle once more upon your shoulders.

A ripple of murmured disapproval passes through the assembled court. According to tradition, Loki should have cleansed you with the ceremonial cloth, dressed you himself, and formally presented you to the court.

It is terribly improper.

Entirely deliberate.

So unmistakably Loki.

Although unnoticeable to the crowd, you know his choice to leave his seed dripping down your thighs was intentional. You have to fight the urge to squirm where you sit.

Before you can take so much as a single step, he slips one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees. With effortless ease, he lifts you from the bed.

A startled laugh escapes you, instinctively looping an arm around his shoulders.

“Loki!”

“You weren’t truly planning on walking, were you?” he murmurs, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Half the realm would spend the next century debating your gait.”

Heat floods your cheeks.

He isn’t wrong.

After everything the day has demanded of you — of both of you — you are fairly certain your legs would betray you before you reached the door.

“You are insufferable,” you whisper.

“And yet,” he replies, unable to suppress the crooked smile tugging at his lips, “you married me anyway.”

The great doors swing open before you, and the once reluctant crowd bursts into cheers. It follows you through the corridors and out into the gardens, where the people gather to celebrate the union of two kingdoms.

It is a thing of wonder, the way they look at you now. No longer with the guarded suspicion and distrust they once held so closely, but with hope and a kind of quiet pride.

They look at you as if they have never seen you before, and you suppose in a way they haven't. You aren’t just a princess of Alfheim anymore. Now you are also a Princess of Asgard.

Loki carries you all the way to the edge of the fountain and sets you down gently on the marble ledge.

The cheering seems to have quieted somewhat as the crowds take their places around the garden, but the joy is still palpable in the air.

Everything seems almost too perfect to be real.

Thor dances with Sif, laughing as she drags him about the grass.

The allfather watches over the proceedings with his usual grim expression, but there is something softer about it that you have never seen before.

The allmother wears a serene grin as she gazes out over the festivities. She catches your eye and gives you a small nod of approval, and you know that whatever has placated Odin is largely due to her influence.

Volstagg hoists a barrel of ale onto the table, prompting several of the nobles to begin passing out glasses. Fandral is already on his second if the way he sways is any indication.

And finally, the seer.

She stands alone beside a tall ash tree at the edge of the garden, her white eyes staring off into nothing. Or perhaps they see everything. You cannot say for certain, but you know that she can sense you, for her head turns in your direction and a small smile plays across her lips.

You have no doubt that you have made the correct decision.

You had believed the shadow the seer spoke of belonged to Loki. The forgotten prince. The keeper of secrets. But shadows were never proof of evil, they were only proof of light. And you knew now that he was not the shadow in this story.

He was the light.

Your light.

And your heart had chosen him.

By time the sun had set, your feet were aching from dancing and your cheeks were sore from smiling. You have been introduced to more people than you care to count, and it is late enough that even the most enthusiastic revelers have retired for the night.

Now you sit side by side on a cliff overlooking the sea, watching as the waves crash against the rocks below. Your bare feet dangle off the edge, and it feels almost as if the two of you are suspended above the world.

For a long moment neither of you speak, content to sit in this newfound peace together. But it is unlike the youngest prince of Asgard to let a silence linger for very long, and you feel the need to break it before he does.

"What are you thinking?” you ask softly, glancing over at him.

He stares off into the distance, his expression thoughtful.

“That I do not deserve this.” He glances down at his hands. At the ring on his finger. “It is not my nature to be happy. I can’t help but think that sooner or later this will be taken from me."

You reach over to place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers.

“Not if I have anything to say about it."

“I am not of Asgard — not truly. I do not know what the future holds for me here."

You stay quiet, letting him work through whatever he needs to say.

“It was never a question who would someday take my fathers place as king, no matter how much I might wish it otherwise. Thor has always been the clear choice for the throne, and he is better suited for it than I. It is his birthright, and I have accepted it. Odin will forgive him for his indiscretions, as he has always done before. Even when it nearly cost him his life and all of Asgard besides.”

When the silence stretches on, you prompt him gently, "I do not see how this pertains to us."

He sighs. "You too, as my brother, was born to rule. You have always been meant for greater things than I. And I… I can not make you queen. I fear that one day you will find yourself resenting me for it."

For a moment you just stare at him. Then, despite every effort to stop yourself, you laugh.

Loki blinks.

“You are laughing.”

“I am.”

“I’ve just confessed one of my deepest insecurities.”

“You have.”

“And your response is laughter.”

You nod, trying — and failing — to compose yourself.

His brow furrows in that wonderfully familiar way, offense settling across his features with almost theatrical precision.

“You find this amusing?”

Something warm blooms in your chest.

There he is.

The infuriating, dramatic boy who had spent years arguing with you over everything from swordsmanship to whether roses ought to have perfectly symmetrical petals.

“No," you manage to say, seriousness finally returning to your voice. "I find it ridiculous."

Loki opens his mouth, but you hold up a hand to silence him before he can speak.

“I was born for the sole purpose of being a pawn. Something I’m sure we both know all too well. We were made to be used, Loki. And we have been used. By our parents. By our people. By everyone else who believes they have a claim to us.”

He looks away, and you reach out to tilt his face toward you once more.

“I never wanted to be a queen. All I ever wanted was to be free. And now that I am, I don't think I could go back." You hesitate a moment, trying to find the right words. “You do not get to decide what I deserve. Neither does Thor, nor Odin, nor anyone else in the realms. Only I can. And I have decided that you are what I want. Do you understand?”

His eyes search yours for a long moment, but you hold his gaze steadily.

Then he smiles.

“Of course your first act as my equal is to give me an order."

You narrow your eyes at him, but you can't quite disguise the smirk tugging at your lips.

"And my second act will be to toss you over this cliff if you don’t obey it."

“Careful. Threatening the prince, husband or not, may be considered treasonous."

"If you think that is a threat, then you clearly have not been paying attention," you say dryly, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. "Darling, I have been paying attention to everything about you since the day we met."

You roll your eyes and give him a little shove. "Flatterer."

He catches your hand as you move to push him, and in one fluid movement he tugs you forward until you are on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around you.

"Perhaps," he says, “but that does not mean it is not true."

The smile you give him is shy, and he traces a finger along the curve of your cheek as he gazes at you.

“You know, we can visit Alfheim whenever you like." His thumb grazes along your lower lip. "I believe I am owed a tour."

You smile.

"I think I would like that."

You are certain that there will be difficulties both large and small, and some that may even seem insurmountable. But that is something you can worry about another day. Tonight, you do not wish to think of anything except him.

“Then it shall be.”

You make a noncommittal noise as you settle against him, your head coming to rest just below his chin. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, and you allow yourself to bask in the warmth of him.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, echoing the question you had asked him moments earlier.

You close your eyes, letting the sounds of the horse and the sea wash over you.

“For the first time since arriving in Asgard as a frightened little girl, I feel at home."

Loki shifts slightly so he can press his lips to the top of your head.

“Welcome home.”

You smile.

“Your mother spoke to me today.”

He hums softly. “Should I be concerned?”

“Probably.”

He chuckles.

“She gave me a gift.”

You feel him stiffen just enough to know you’ve piqued his curiosity.

“A gift?”

“A book. On seidr.”

Loki pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Mother gave you a book on magic?”

“She believed it would serve me one day.”

“Then I suspect it will,” Loki says simply. “My mother was rarely in the habit of giving gifts without purpose.”

“But that wasn’t the strange part.”

You think back to the worn leather binding beneath your fingertips, to Frigga’s gentle hands resting over yours.

This will help you mend the threads when they fray.

At the time, you had thought she meant treaties. Politics. The endless obligations of a queen. Now you wondered if she had meant something much smaller and Indefinitely harder.

You wonder if perhaps she meant family.

You think of Thor, who had surrendered everything because he refused to make prisoners of either of you.

You think of Odin, who had, if only for a moment, looked at both of his sons instead of only one.

You think of the years Loki had spent believing himself unseen.

Threads. Broken ones. Frayed ones. And somehow, all of them had begun to weave together.

A queen was not the one who wore the finest crown.

She was the one who refused to let the kingdom unravel.

“She knew,” you whisper.

Loki’s brow furrows.

“About us,” you clarify.

You feel him hesitate before answering.

“I think…” He exhales through his nose. “I think she knew long before either of us did.”

A laugh escapes you.

“That is horribly unfair,” you murmur.

“It is.”

“We spent years arguing.”

“So we did.”

“We could scarcely be in the same room without finding something to disagree about.”

“I distinctly remember you beginning most of them.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him. “I did not!”

“You absolutely did.”

“I simply corrected you.”

“You called my illusions ‘uninspired.’”

“They were.”

He lets out an affronted noise.

“I still don’t understand why she chose today of all days to give me the book,” you say thoughtfully, ignoring his protests.

Loki scoffs, though it is more fond than annoyed

“oh she has just ensured I shall never win another argument.”

You laugh.

“I hardly need magic for that.”

“No,” he sighs dramatically. “That has been painfully evident for years.”

He kisses your forehead.

“I pity the poor soul who attempts to outwit both of us now.”

You lean into him, smirking.

You stirred slowly beneath the heavy silk sheets, the faint scent of leather, ozone, and something indefinently Loki lingering in the air like a spell that refused to fade. The first thing you noticed was the cool slide of fabric against your bare skin as you shifted—an exquisite green-and-gold robe draped artfully over the foot of the bed, clearly placed there for you to find.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Of course he’d already been here.

You sat up, letting the sheet pool around your waist, and reached for the robe. The moment your fingers touched it, the silk seemed to warm and move on its own, gliding over your shoulders like a lover’s hands. It fit perfectly, of course. Everything Loki gave you always did.

On the nightstand sat a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold chain with an emerald pendant that pulsed gently against your skin the second you clasped it around your neck. A pleasant heat bloomed across your collarbones, spreading downward in lazy waves that made your thighs press together instinctively.

And then there was the note.

Written in that impossibly elegant, flowing script you’d recognize anywhere:

My darling little mortal,

Another year older. Another year more dangerously tempting. Today is yours. I am yours… or so I’ll let you believe. Be ready for me.

— L

You were still tracing the words with your fingertip when the air in the room shifted.

A swirl of emerald and gold shimmered near the window, coalescing into the tall, devastating figure of Loki Laufeyson. He leaned against the wall with that signature smirk, arms crossed, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that hugged every lean line of his body. His dark hair was swept back, a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead, and his eyes—those sharp, mischievous green eyes—raked over you like he was already undressing you with his mind.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he purred, voice velvet and sin.

Before you could even respond, he was across the room in two strides. His long fingers tilted your chin up and his mouth claimed yours in a deep, hungry kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He tasted like mischief and magic, like champagne and dark promises. When he finally pulled back, you were dizzy, lips tingling.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your mouth, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Another year more tempting. How dare you grow even more irresistible? It’s terribly unfair to the rest of the universe.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to tug at the lapels of his jacket. “You’re laying it on thick this morning.”

“Merely warming up,” he replied, eyes glittering. He leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I have plans for you today. All day. And I won’t be telling you a single detail until we’re in the thick of it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cryptic as always.”

Loki’s grin widened, sharp and playful. He nipped at your earlobe, voice dropping into that low, filthy register you knew too well. “Let’s just say… there will be moments where I have you pressed against glass overlooking the city. Moments where my fingers are under your dress while no one around us has the faintest idea. And moments where you’ll be begging so prettily I might almost consider giving you what you want.”

Your breath hitched. The enchanted necklace grew warmer against your skin, almost pulsing in time with the growing heat between your legs.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, clearly delighted by your reaction. “But not yet. First, I’m taking you out. Properly. Like the goddess you deserve to feel like on your birthday.”

You tried to tug him back down for another kiss, but he caught your wrists gently, pressing them to the bed with a wicked smile.

“Ah-ah. Patience, darling. You’ll have your fun later. Though I must warn you…” His voice turned teasing, almost mocking in that way that made your stomach flip. “I’m feeling particularly talkative today. I do hope you’ll be able to handle all my commentary while I spoil you rotten.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a spark of challenge flaring in your chest. It was your birthday, after all.

“We’ll see about that,” you murmured.

Loki’s grin turned positively feral.

“Oh, I do hope you try to shut me up, pet. I’m very curious to see how you’ll manage it.”

The morning blurred into a whirlwind of Loki’s particular brand of indulgence. By the time the sun was high, he had whisked you away to a hidden restaurant tucked between two unassuming buildings in Manhattan—an Asgardian sanctuary invisible to mortal eyes unless invited. The interior shimmered with floating golden lanterns and deep emerald drapery, the air scented with spiced wine and roasted meats.

You sat across from him at a private table near the window, overlooking the glittering illusion of a fjord that definitely wasn’t in New York. Loki looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Try this,” he murmured, leaning across the table with a forkful of rich chocolate and berry dessert. Instead of handing it to you, he brought it to your lips himself, eyes locked on yours. “Open.”

You obeyed, and the moment the decadent flavor hit your tongue, his voice dropped to that sinful velvet whisper.

“Delicious, isn’t it? Almost as sweet as you’ll taste when I have you spread open on our bed later. I plan to take my time… licking every inch of you until you’re shaking and dripping down my chin.”

Your thighs clenched under the table. Loki’s smirk deepened as his hand slid beneath the heavy tablecloth, resting high on your thigh. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles, inching higher with every pass but never quite reaching where you wanted him.

“Problem, darling?” he asked innocently, tilting his head. “You look a little flushed. Is the wine too strong? Or is it the thought of my tongue buried inside you while you moan my name?”

You shot him a warning look, but he only chuckled, low and rich.

“I do love when you try to glare at me like that. It makes me want to bend you over this table and remind you exactly who owns this pretty body.” His fingers pressed firmer into your inner thigh. “Though today I’m being generous. I’m letting you think you’re in charge.”

Lunch continued like that—Loki feeding you bites between increasingly filthy promises, his hand never leaving your thigh, his voice a constant teasing murmur against your ear whenever he leaned in. By the time you left the restaurant, you were aching, wet, and thoroughly annoyed with how smug he looked about it.

Next came a quiet, magically concealed garden terrace high above the city. Ancient Asgardian trees bloomed around you, their flowers glowing softly in the afternoon light. It felt private enough that you thought you might get a moment of peace.

You were wrong.

Loki walked beside you with his arm looped possessively around your waist, pulling you close as you strolled.

“You’re breathtaking when you’re flustered, you know,” he purred, lips brushing your temple. “That pretty blush on your cheeks… the way your breath catches. It makes me want to ruin you right here against this tree.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Then you felt it—phantom fingers, created by his seidr, ghosting down the back of your neck, tracing your spine, then slipping lower to brush teasingly between your legs. You gasped sharply.

Loki’s face remained perfectly innocent as he admired a glowing flower. “Something wrong, my love?”

“You’re impossible,” you hissed, cheeks burning.

He laughed softly, the sound dark and delighted. “And yet you’re soaked for me already, aren’t you? Poor thing. All this tension and I haven’t even properly touched you yet.”

Another illusionary caress slid along your inner thigh, higher this time, pressing firmly against your aching core for just a second before vanishing. You grabbed his arm tighter, knees nearly buckling.

“Loki…”

“Yes, darling?” He turned to you with mock concern, green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Use your words. Tell me what you need. Or better yet… save all that fire for later when you try to put me in my place.” His voice dropped even lower. “I’m very much looking forward to watching you attempt to shut me up.”

The tension was unbearable now—your body thrumming with need, irritation, and raw desire. Every teasing word, every phantom touch, every wicked promise made you more determined to turn the tables the second you got him alone.

Loki seemed to sense it. He pulled you closer, lips brushing your ear one last time.

“Careful, love. If you keep looking at me with that murderous, needy little glare… I might not make it home before I start begging you to ruin me.”

By the time you returned to your quarters, the air between you was thick enough to choke on. The door had barely clicked shut before you turned to him.

Loki barely had time to open his mouth with another smug remark before you shoved him hard in the chest. He let you do it—because of course he did, this was your birthday and he was playing along—but the wicked grin on his face said he was enjoying every second of it.

The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell gracefully onto the mattress, sprawling like a king on his throne. His dark hair fanned out against the silk sheets as he looked up at you with gleaming eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight. Are you finally going to—mmph.”

You cut him off by climbing onto the bed and kissing him fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss was messy, demanding, and you bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. When you pulled back, his pupils were already blown wide.

“Quiet,” you whispered against his mouth.

Loki chuckled, low and filthy. “Oh darling, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to shut me up. I have so many plans to tell you about. For instance, I was thinking I’d lay you down and—”

You silenced him again, this time by dragging your mouth down the sharp line of his jaw to his neck. You sucked hard on his pulse point, then bit down. His words dissolved into a surprised groan.

Your hands moved with purpose, pushing his expensive jacket off his shoulders. He helped just enough for you to strip it away, but his mouth kept running.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Taking charge on your birthday… How adorable. Though if you ask me—”

You yanked his shirt open, buttons scattering. The moment his pale, toned chest was exposed, you leaned down and bit his collarbone, hard. Loki arched slightly beneath you, a breathy laugh turning into a low moan.

“Fuck— you’re vicious today. I like it. But you know I could just flip us over and—”

Another bite, lower this time, right above his nipple. You followed it with a slow, wet lick. His words faltered again as his hand came up to grip your thigh.

You worked slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch of him. His shirt was tossed aside. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, over the lean muscle of his abdomen, watching the way his stomach tensed under your touch. When you reached his belt, you took your time unbuckling it, letting your knuckles brush teasingly against the growing hardness beneath his trousers.

Loki’s breath hitched, but he still tried to speak.

“You’re trembling, pet. So wet for me already, I can practically smell it. When I finally get my hands on you, I’m going to—”

You shut him up properly this time—leaning down and kissing him deep and filthy while your hand palmed him through his pants. The moan he let out into your mouth was deeply satisfying. You squeezed gently, stroking him until his hips twitched.

When you pulled back, his lips were kiss-swollen and his usual smug mask was cracking just a little.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, hooking your fingers into his waistband and slowly dragging his trousers and underwear down his long legs.

Loki’s cock sprang free, hard and flushed, curving proudly against his stomach. He opened his mouth again, probably to make some arrogant comment, but you immediately wrapped your fingers around his length and gave him one firm, slow stroke.

His head fell back against the pillows with a broken groan.

“Much better,” you murmured, leaning down to drag your tongue along the underside of his length. You took your time, licking and teasing, savoring the way his thighs tensed under your hands.

You worked him with your mouth and hand in tandem—long, slow strokes followed by swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Every time he tried to reach for you, to touch your hair or pull you closer, you caught his wrists and pinned them down to the mattress above his head.

“Darling—ah—I merely wanted to—” he started again, voice strained.

You sucked him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and his back arched clean off the bed with a broken moan. When you pulled off with a wet pop, you gave him a warning look.

“Hands stay up there,” you ordered.

Loki’s eyes flashed with wicked delight, even as he obeyed. “So demanding on your birthday. I must say, I— nngh—”

You cut him off again by taking him back into your mouth, bobbing your head while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit. You edged him mercilessly—bringing him right to the brink with tight, fast strokes, only to slow down or pull off completely when his hips started thrusting up desperately.

Each time you denied him, his teasing grew more fractured.

“You wicked little— mmh— you’re going to regret teasing a god like this… or perhaps I’ll— fuck, right there—”

You discovered something delicious in the process.

When you released his cock for a moment and moved higher up his body, you dragged your teeth along his collarbone and sucked hard on the side of his neck. Loki’s entire body shuddered violently beneath you. A deep, needy sound escaped his throat—nothing like his usual controlled purr.

His neck and chest were incredibly sensitive.

You smiled against his skin and lavished attention there—kissing, licking, and biting along his sharp collarbones, then lower to his chest. When your tongue flicked over one of his nipples, Loki actually whimpered, hips jerking up into nothing.

“Oh? You like that?” you whispered, delighted by your discovery. You pinned his wrists harder with one hand while your mouth closed around his nipple, sucking and grazing it with your teeth.

“Darling— shit— you’re going to kill me,” he gasped, voice cracking beautifully. The usual smugness was rapidly dissolving into raw, breathy desperation. “If you keep that up I won’t be able to— ah— fuck, please—”

You switched to the other side of his chest, giving it the same treatment while your free hand returned to his cock, stroking him torturously slow. You kept him right on the edge, never letting him tip over, while your mouth continued its assault on his neck and chest until his skin was covered in marks and his usual silver tongue was reduced to broken moans and half-formed teases.

By the time you pulled back slightly to admire your work, Loki was a gorgeous wreck beneath you—chest heaving, hair wild, lips parted, and eyes glassy with frustrated need.

He still tried one last taunt, voice hoarse:

“You think this is enough to shut me up? I can still— I can still tell you exactly how tight and wet you—”

You squeezed his cock firmly and leaned down to bite his neck again.

Loki’s words dissolved into a loud, shameless moan.

You couldn’t wait any longer.

Loki was still trying to run his mouth, even while panting and flushed beneath you, his cock twitching desperately in your hand.

“Still think you can— mmh— keep this up, darling? I give you ten minutes before you’re the one begging m—”

You shut him up the best way possible.

Rising up on your knees, you lined him up and sank down onto his cock in one smooth, relentless motion. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely, and the broken groan that tore from Loki’s throat was deeply satisfying.

“F-fuck—!” His head slammed back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as you bottomed out.

You didn’t give him time to recover.

You set a punishing pace immediately, rolling your hips hard and fast, riding him with every ounce of built-up frustration from his endless teasing. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you ground down on him, taking him deep with every roll.

Loki’s silver tongue finally began to fracture.

“Gods— you’re so— ah— tight— fuck, darling, slow down or I’ll—” His words dissolved into a choked moan as you clenched around him deliberately.

You tangled one hand in his messy black hair and yanked his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Your other hand wrapped lightly around it, applying just enough pressure to make his pupils blow even wider.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice low and sweet as you rode him harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis with every thrust. “So pretty when you fall apart. All that teasing and now you can’t even form a full sentence.”

Loki’s hands flew to your hips, gripping hard enough that you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His fingers dug in, but he didn’t try to take control. He let you use him exactly as you wanted, hips jerking up desperately to meet your punishing rhythm.

“V-velsk— nngh— you wicked little mortal,” he gasped, slipping into Asgardian curses as you clenched around him again. “I’m going to— fuck— you feel too good— shit—”

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear while still riding him relentlessly.

“You’re only allowed to come when I say so,” you murmured, tightening your grip in his hair. “I want to hear you beg first. My beautiful, talkative god… look how wrecked you are for me.”

Loki let out a broken whimper, his usual elegance completely shattered. His chest was heaving, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and every time you sank down hard he made the most delicious sounds — raw, desperate moans mixed with fractured curses in his native tongue.

“Járn— ah— please— you’re going to ruin me—” he gasped, voice cracking beautifully as you rolled your hips in a slow, devastating circle before slamming back down.

His neck and chest were flushed red from your earlier marks, and every time your hand flexed lightly around his throat, his cock throbbed hard inside you.

You kept riding him mercilessly, controlling every movement, every angle, watching with dark satisfaction as the God of Mischief came completely undone beneath you.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his cock throbbing deep inside your soaked cunt with every brutal roll of your hips. Loki’s grip on your waist was bruising, but he still obeyed — letting you stay in complete control even as he unraveled.

You slowed your pace just enough to torture him, grinding down deep and slow, clenching around him on every downstroke.

“Beg,” you whispered against his lips, tightening your hand around his throat. “You’ve been running that pretty mouth all day. Now I want to hear you beg for it.”

Loki’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide with desperation. His silver tongue had almost completely deserted him, but he still tried to resist one last time.

“I— I don’t beg, pet— ah, fuck—” His words cut off in a choked moan as you slammed down hard and rolled your hips in tight, filthy circles.

You tugged his hair harder and leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Beg, Loki. Or I’ll stop right now and leave you like this.”

A broken whimper escaped him. His pride finally shattered.

“Please—” he gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, darling— let me come. I need it— I need you— fuck, please let me fill you up. I’ll be good— I swear, just please—”

The sound of the God of Mischief begging beneath you was pure ecstasy.

You rewarded him by riding him harder than ever, fast and relentless, using his cock exactly how you wanted. One hand stayed wrapped around his throat, the other fisted tight in his hair as you fucked him into the mattress.

Loki’s head suddenly threw back against the pillows, mouth falling open in a loud, broken cry.

“Fuck—! I’m— I’m going to—”

His orgasm hit him like a storm.

He came hard with a shattered moan that echoed through the room, hips jerking up violently as he spilled deep inside you. Thick, hot pulses of his release filled you while emerald magic exploded around the room — green and gold sparks flickering wildly across the walls and ceiling. Illusions of stars and blooming flowers shimmered in and out of existence around the bed as his control completely collapsed. His body shook beneath you, chest heaving, neck arched beautifully as he rode out every wave.

The sight and feeling of him falling apart so completely pushed you over the edge right after him.

You ground down hard, clit rubbing against his pelvis as you used his twitching, oversensitive cock to chase your own pleasure. Your orgasm crashed over you in powerful waves, cunt clenching rhythmically around him as you moaned his name. Pleasure flooded every nerve as you rode him through both your climaxes, drawing out every last drop until you were both trembling and spent.

You both stayed locked together for a long moment, breathing ragged and bodies trembling. Loki’s cock was still buried deep inside you, twitching with the aftershocks as you slowly came down from your high.

Eventually, his arms wrapped around you with surprising gentleness. He pulled you down flush against his chest, holding you there as if he never wanted to let go. His heart was pounding wildly beneath your ear.

For once, the God of Mischief was nearly speechless.

He pressed slow, lazy kisses to the top of your head, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth—each one softer than the last. His long fingers traced soothing patterns along your spine, gentle and reverent.

“You…” he finally murmured, voice rough and low, “were magnificent.”

You smiled against his sweaty skin, pressing a kiss to his collarbone where you’d left a particularly dark mark earlier. Loki shivered at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“You’ll pay for that tomorrow, darling,” he whispered, a hint of his usual mischief threading through the exhaustion. “I promise you’ll scream my name until your voice gives out… but tonight was… exquisite.”

He tilted your chin up gently so he could look at you. His green eyes were still hazy, lashes heavy, a rare look of pure bliss softening his sharp features.

“I must admit,” he continued quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I rather enjoyed letting you take the lead. Seeing you so fierce, so determined to shut me up…” A soft, breathless chuckle escaped him. “I didn’t think I’d like surrendering quite so much. You were perfect.”

You rested your forehead against his, basking in the warmth of his body and the rare vulnerability in his voice.

“I loved it too,” he added, almost shyly. “Being yours completely tonight. You may have ruined me for a little while, love.”

His arms tightened around you, one hand slowly stroking your hair as the other caressed your waist. The room was quiet now, the last flickers of his magic long faded, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the sheets.

You nestled deeper into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—ozone, leather, and warm skin. Pressing one last, lingering kiss just beneath his jaw, you whispered softly:

“Happy birthday to me.”

Both his hands are now hoisting up your long dress, feeling their way along your thighs as they go. He squeezes them with his callused hands, eliciting more pleasurable sounds from you. One hand firmly cups your warmth over your underwear and he rubs the ball of his hand against your clit. You instinctively buck your hips to increase the friction, which makes a smirk appear on Thor's sunkissed face.

"So needy for me, darling. So needy to be touched by your God." His voice is hoarse as he whispers the words in your ear.

Thor doesn't often refer to himself as 'your God', but it sends shivers down your spine all the way to your core when he utters the words, his deep voice rumbling through you.

"Yes, my King, I need you so bad. Please take me." You whimper, playing along.

A deep groan escapes Thor's mouth at your words. Two strong fingers are now rubbing between your drenched folds, spreading your wetness around. It doesn't take long for him to sink one finger inside your velvety entrance, a second following quickly after. Thor moves them in and out of you at a tormentingly slow pace, making you quiver in his arms. Your hands grasp onto his strong biceps as he works you. A familiar coil is starting to form in your lower belly, making you desperate for more.

"There you go, my good girl." Thor grunts. "Clenching that divine pussy of yours so tightly around my fingers."

His free hand kneads your breasts, tugging and rolling at your nipples one by one. He dips his head down to suck one of the rosy buds into his mouth, switching to the other when he's satisfied with your whimpers.

With a wet sound he removes his fingers from you, licking them clean right in front of you. The obscene picture sends goosebumps across your skin.

"Your taste is incredible, darling." He groans as he winks at you.

With one fast move he works your underwear down, exposing your wetness to him.

"A God normally doesn't kneel," Thor starts as he lowers himself before you. "But for you, I gladly make an exception."

Thor hoists one of your legs over his shoulder, smirking at you from his kneeling position. Both his hands hold onto your hips tightly to keep you in place for him. He buries his head under your dress and in your wet core, avidly lapping at the juices that are escaping you. His flat tongue drags long licks across your slit before he nibbles on your clit. Thor's fingers return to your entrance and he moves one inside again. You're close to losing your balance as you feel him work your sensitive parts, letting loud moans escape your mouth as your orgasm builds.

"Please, Thor. I'm going to cum. Please continue. Please make me cum." You plead through ragged breaths.

"Do it, my sweetling. Let yourself lose control. Give yourself to me."

Thor eagerly picks up his pace, pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers, his only mission making you come undone before him. Your legs start to shake when he catches your clit between his lips again and starts sucking while a third finger enters your wetness, stretching you out for him.

Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure searing through your body. If he hadn't been holding onto you so tightly, surely you would have fallen to your knees. He drinks up everything you give him, leisurely moving his fingers up and down inside your pussy, making sure to drag out your orgasm as long as possible.

The brawny man stands up again, still holding his hands on your hips, then presses a long kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on his tongue, a salty sweet mixture of your own release combined with the red wine he drank before. You reach up and throw your hands around his neck, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lifts you up. You let him lead the pair of you to Loki's bed.

Thor throws you down on the green satin sheets and is immediately on you. He pulls at your dress, working it off you and throwing it to the floor. You tug on his shirt and pants, not stopping until the strong man you love so dearly is standing in front of you in all his naked glory. He runs his fingers over your soft skin, caressing every part of you he can reach.

"Get on all fours, darling. Let me take you with your beautiful arse up in the air." It's more a command than a question, and you eagerly oblige.

Laying your chest down to the soft mattress below, wiggling your exposed buttocks to the God, you feel the bed dip as Thor places himself behind you. He rubs the tip of his thick member between your folds, making it wet with your slick, before sinking into you inch by inch. The stretch is incredible and you let out a loud moan when Thor bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size deep inside your needy core, drawing more moans from your lips when he starts to move. One strong hand twists in your hair and pulls back your head, the other gripping onto your hip so tightly it will surely leave bruises.

"You like feeling that thick cock inside of you, don't you darling? Such a needy little plaything for me." He whispers in your ear as he slams himself into you again and again, earning more cries from you.

A loud knock on the door silences you both, and Thor slows down his pace. He doesn't answer the door though, instead he keeps thrusting into you over and over, though way more quietly than before. There's a second knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Brother? Are you in there? I'm looking for Y/n. Can't find her anywhere. I was hoping you could help."

Your eyes widen in surprise at hearing Thor's voice on the other side of the door. A hand clamps over your mouth at the same moment you figure out what's going on. The dagger now pressing to your throat tells you you've guessed correctly.

"Not a sound, pet." Loki's breath is hot on your ear as he softly hisses the words.

There's panick in your eyes as Loki presses your back against his chest, holding you tightly in place. A hint of green light in your peripheral vision tells you he's dropped the illusion and is now back to his true form. His cock is still buried deep inside of you, though it now seems to hit deeper and stretch you a little less. Loki keeps slowly thrusting in and out of you, the dagger lightly puncturing the skin on your throat.

"No brother, I haven't seen Y/n." Loki's silky voice calls. "I will come help you search for her in a bit. I'm a little occupied at the moment."

Loki slowly trails the dagger along your throat, sternum, and belly as he keeps fucking into you and talks to his brother. Eventually his hand comes to rest on your hip, the cool metal of the dagger pressing into the skin of your thigh.

"She was just with me in the Grand Hall. I don't know how I could have lost her." Thor continues.

"Y/n is a smart little thing, she'll find her way back to you. If not, I'll help you look for her in a little while."

Thor sighs loudly, but seems to be accepting his brother's words.

"Thank you, Loki."

"My pleasure, brother." Loki muses, accentuating the words with deep thrusts into your needy core, hitting that sweet spot deep within.

The hand on your mouth weakens somewhat when Thor walks away from the door. The dagger on your thigh vanishes, much to your relief. Loki's now free hand travels up your body, firmly groping your breasts when he reaches them. Pressed against him, you feel his smooth skin rub against yours with every move of his hips.

"Now pet, I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth and you're going to stay quiet for me. If not, I have some other ideas on how to shut you up."

True to his word, Loki releases you from his iron grip. His freed hand finds your throat, using it to pull you flush against him. A tear is starting to run down your cheek, and your breath hitches in your throat when Loki runs his tongue along your face to lap it up. His thrusts are speeding up again, making involuntary moans escape your mouth. You don't want to be enjoying any of this, but he is a damn good fuck.

Loki pushes you forward, pressing your chest into the mattress as he fucks you deep and hard. His hand twists in your hair once more as he uses it to ram himself inside of you as fast as humanly - godly - possible. The other hand kneads into your thigh and arse, harsh spanks landing on the latter between deep thrusts.

At once, Loki pushes you away from him, pulling himself out of your wetness and stroking his own cock.

"Turn around darling, I want you to look at me while I make you cum again." The deep voice orders.

Reluctantly you follow his command, laying yourself down on your back in front of him. Your pussy feels empty without him inside, and some part of you misses his cock filling you up.

"Loki, please." You plead. "You don't have to do this… If you let me walk away now I promise I won't tell Thor about any of this. We can pretend it never happened."

Loki grunts as he slides his cock into your slick entrance again, not stopping until he's buried inside of you to the hilt. His eyes meet yours, his pupils blown with lust. His mouth finds your throat again, eagerly licking and sucking while he sets a relentless pace, pounding you into the satin sheets. Skilled fingers are playing with your nipples, tugging at them with the exact right amount of force for it to drive you crazy.

"You look so pretty when you beg." Loki mocks. "It really becomes you. Let me hear more of it."

Not sure whether he's giving your pleas any notice or it's just spurring him on more, you start to beg.

"Please stop, Loki. Let me go. Please just… just…"

At first, your words sound desperate, a real attempt at getting away from him. But when his hand finds your clit and your orgasm starts to build again, the pleas start to become of a different nature.

"Please, Loki… please." You beg, not sure anymore what kind of mercy it is you're hoping for.

A mischievous smirk is plastered across Loki's face as he notices the change in your dire words. His breath tickles your ear when he hisses into it.

"That's it pet, beg me for it. You know you want to. You're so close to cumming, I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock. My needy little toy."

Loki grabs onto your legs and hoists both of them onto his shoulders, driving into you even deeper than before. His thrusts are long, deep, hard, and always hitting that magical spot buried in your core. Strong fingers press into your hips as he slams into your wanton body. You can't stall it much longer, your body betraying you as it starts to reach its climax once again.

"Say my name for me. I want to hear it drip from your beautiful lips as you cum."

"I, I don't…"

"Say my name, pet." His voice is rough and low.

"I don't want to." You spit at him, regaining a bit of your usual resilience.

"I'm sorry, did I leave you under the impression that I care?" Loki calls angrily, tightly gripping your throat in one of his strong hands.

He's practically folding you in half when he bends down further, spitting in your face as he obstructs the blood flow in your neck. The sensation is wild, and you feel disgusted with yourself when your body starts to tremble and convulse as your second orgasm of the night crashes through you. Loki's heinous grin tells you he's feeling victorious for making you come undone again, his thrusts only slowing down ever so slightly to let you ride out your high right on his cock.

"Norns, Y/n, you take me so well." He gruntingly praises as he feels your walls tighten around his dick over and over. "Doing so well for your God. Tell me, does my brother fuck you like this? Does he make you cum so hard your eyes roll back in your head?"

You don't answer him. Not just because you outright refuse to indulge in his sick contest with Thor, but also because you physically can't seem to utter any words at the moment. The feeling of his cock fucking you harder than you've ever been fucked before has sent you into a jelly-like state, no coherent sentence or thought forming inside your foggy brain.

"Answer me, pet." Loki growls. His hand now pinches your face, forcing you to look at him. "Can my dear brother make you feel the way I do?"

With heavy eyelids you slowly shake your head, earning you a wicked grin on the dark-haired man's face as he keeps impaling you on his cock. His thrusts become speedier, then erratic, and within moments he's painting your walls with his cum. Loki groans and growls as he cums deep inside of you, filling you up. He drops your legs and slumps over you, his body heavily pressing down on yours.

It takes a while for Loki to remove himself from you, but when he does, he lays down on his side next to you and pulls you to him for a deep kiss. Without realising it you comply, sharing a passionate moment with your boyfriend's brother.

When the fog in your mind clears up, you start coming to your senses again. You start to move off the bed with worry in your eyes, rummaging around the soft sheets to find your clothes.

"Loki, whatever this was… it can never happen again." You tell him with a stern look on your face. "Do you understand?"

Loki smiles at you, a genuine smile, and you feel your cheeks start to flush.

"Of course, darling. Never again. Go back to your orgasmless life with my oaf brother. I don't care." Loki states casually. "But I might disguise myself as him again sometime soon. I'd love to feel your lips wrapped around my cock."

"If you ever try to pull something like that again, I swear to all the Gods…" You angrily call as you point a finger in his direction.

"Oh my sweet, naive little pet, do you really think that was the first time?"

A shimmer of green light rushes over you, a cold tingling sensation spreading through your every limb. Your hair is neatly in place, as are you dress and undergarments. Any bruises Loki left on you have faded away as if they were never there.

As you look up, you're surprised to see the infamous God of Mischief standing before you, flashing you a sickingly sweet smile.

"Loki?" You ask, somewhat confused. "What am I doing in your chambers? I was just in the Grand Hall, dancing with Thor."

"You just walked in here, darling. I have no clue as to why." Loki offers you his hand and you gladly accept the kind gesture.

"Let me help you find my dear brother, Y/n. He must be worried sick."

"Thank you, Loki." You smile. "I don't remember how I got here."

"That's okay. Maybe you had a bit too much of the wine?"

"Yeah, probably… I'm happy I can trust you to get me back to Thor." You say as you smile up at him.

"Any time, my sweet pet. Any time."

_____

A/N: My first dark fic and first Loki fic! Lmk what you think :)

Masterlist

Link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86970876

Please do not copy and post my work under your own name (reblogging is welcome of course!)

Taglist: @littletigerspeaks2, @mischiefmaker615

✨

You got a grand tour of the palace, every inch of it more lavish than the next. Everyone showed you grace and respect when his mother introduced you and what your new title will be in mere hours. Some looked at you in shock, some looked at you like you are the most incredible being to ever exist. You felt like neither but thanked them for helping putting this ceremony together so quickly.

In a short eight hours, you are going to become a Valkyrie and Loki’s betrothed. It doesn’t seem real that your life would ever become this but you’re so thankful it is. You can live a life with Loki. Your biggest fear didn’t come true. After all that time worrying about getting too attached to him after knowing he’s a god, all seemed like it was so far in the past. Now you have a new future to look forward to. Whether it’s here on Asgard or somewhere on earth, you’re just happy to have him forever. 

You and Frigga talked for a while sharing that same sentiment. She insists that you call her Frigga and not ‘your majesty.’ Family doesn’t address each other that way, she tells you. She beams with joy and happiness for you both. This has been something she has always prayed for that Loki would receive in this life. All she wants is for her sons to be happy, especially Loki. 

She admits how she’s seen he’s never had the easiest upbringing. The tricks and the lies he was fed was only going to break him in the long run. She never wanted that for him and when she would bring this up to Odin, he would only act irrationally and never see it from her point of view. She explains to you how both he and Loki are so head-strong and stubborn, it’s like they were destined to never see eye to eye and always be in rivalry. She’s held onto so much guilt ever since they sent Loki away. So many times she wanted to visit Midgard just to check on him but Odin always disapproved and would not let her go. Seeing him today just showed her how much destruction they caused upon him and yet, he found something good out of it after all; you.

The same two maids are in Loki’s room- your room now, and look concerned when they see you with the Queen. She quickly explains to them what has happened and they both go to hug you.

“We’re so glad you’re not leaving, we already like you so much!” One of them say giddy.

“I’ll come and get you ten minutes before the ceremony starts,” Frigga says sweetly to you.

“Wait, can you help me get a ring for him. Something simple, black maybe?” You ask her. 

“Of course, I know just who to ask for such thing. I’ll see you soon.”

She closes the door behind her and you’re left with your maids. 

“What did you want to wear my lady?” They ask you.

“Umm well, I don’t know. I haven’t given this any thought. What do women normally wear for this kind of ceremony?” You ask unsure.

“They normally wear the colors of their betrothed but in your case, I think anything would be appropriate. You are still human, would you like to wear white?” One of them asks.

“I’d like to wear his colors and white. Can you put together something like that in a short amount of time?” You ask nervously.

“Of course we can,” they say cheerfully.

They get started on your dress, stitching ribbon and beading to a white chiffon dress they procured. You asked for some food to be brought up to the room while they worked on your dress and are so thankful for it. You’re starving and every bite you take is more delicious than the last. The fruit is the most decadent thing you’ve ever eaten and the bread is like indulging on pure happiness. You finish almost everything they gave you and are whisked away by one of the maids. 

She sits you down in the bathroom and redoes your makeup. This time, making it more dramatic and fixes half your hair in two thick braids, pinned carefully like a crown on top of your head while the rest falls down your back in loose waves. She adds more pins, sparkling diamonds and emeralds embellishing your hair.

Time is ticking by and you have to get your dress on. They help you get in it and it fits like a glove. It fit your bust and your waist snugly and tapered out in a loose, elegant manner. Your neckline is lace and has an ombré affect that starts out white at your torso and slowly fades into a deep gold up to your throat. You step toward the large mirror and take a look at yourself. This is a dress for a goddess and a few short moments, you are about to become his. They attach a sheer cape to the back straps of your dress. It’s embellished with crystals that dance in the light make you look almost ethereal.

“Thank you for putting this together, it’s better than I could have ever dreamed,” you say appreciatively. 

A small knock on the door makes you turn around and one of the maids goes to the door.

“Your majesty,” she bows and lets her into the room. Frigga is dressed in all gold looking regal as ever with a cape on as well.

“You look beautiful,” she says with tears in her eyes.

“Thank you, so do you.”

“We should start walking over. Everyone is gathered,” she says.

It dawns on you have no idea how many people are going to show up to this or if it’s going to be a small, intimate affair. Either way, you just care that Loki is there waiting for you.

You thank the maids one more time before leaving the room and walking out to the hallway. The hallways are lined with white roses and makes the whole place smell heavenly. You didn’t have nerves or any doubts. You couldn’t be more sure. You are walking to your new life and couldn’t be more excited. 

Frigga stops as you both reach the huge double doors again and turns to face you. She gives you another hug and smiles warmly at you.

“I’ll see you in there, you look beautiful,” she says sweetly.

“Thank you so much.”

The guard open the door for her just big enough for her to get in then closes them.

You can hear the roar of people in there and feel yourself go rigid. God did the whole kingdom show up today? You can’t dwell on that or you’ll be a sweaty mess.

“My lady, we’re going to open both the doors. Can you take a few steps back?” One of the men say.

You nod and gather yourself, taking a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Your hand tightens around the bouquet you’re holding and prepare yourself.

The guards nod their head at you and pull the heavy doors open. Thousands of people fill the assembly room and all stand for you. Your heartbeats wildly in your chest. But you take a step at a time and try to push through. The aisle way is lined with white rose pedals and smells just as heavenly in here. Your nerves disappear when you meet his eyes. They beckon you to come to him. He looks so handsome in his green and gold armor. His blue eyes really shine and he looks extra dashing.

For a moment, it’s just you and him. The crowd of people fall away and you only see him. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. He smiles softly at you, completely in awe. You really wanted to run to him and have him catch you in his arms. But you want to let this moment last and soak up every second of it. 

You finally reach him and Frigga takes your flowers for you. Loki quickly takes your hands in his like he’s been dying to touch you. He lets out a deep breath as if he’s been holding it the whole time you’ve walked to him. 

“You look incredible,” he murmurs. 

“So do you,” you say cheekily. 

The room turns silent when Odin steps forward. 

“Y/n of Midgard, you tasked with the greatest honor to date. You are to be a Valkyrie, to protect and defend all nine realms. Are you prepared for that?” He asks you.

“Yes, I am,” you say.

“I entrust you with this great honor, from becoming mortal, to a Valkyrie. You have shown me the sacrifice you are willing to make while on Midgard. There was not an ounce of selfishness in your actions making you a desirable human to take on this new role. I have no doubt you will do the same here in Asgard and beyond. Responsibility, duty, honor. These are not merely virtues to which we must aspire. They are essential to every soldier and to every King.”

“Do you swear to protect all nine realms?” He asks you. 

A chill runs down your spine as his words carry so much weight to them. 

“I swear,” you say firmly. 

“Do you swear to preserve the peace?”

“I swear.”

He pauses and looks at Loki. 

“Do you swear to protect Loki, Prince of Asgard from any and all evil that may come to him?”

“I swear.”

“Loki, kneel before your protector,” Odin directs him. 

He looks in your eyes for a brief moment, a mischievous glint sparkles in them. He smiles and gets down on one knee, bowing his head low. The sight is something you never would have imagined in a million years to happen but there is, kneeling to you and surrendering his life to you. 

“Do you accept this woman to guide you into a better life and protect your best interests?”

“I do,” he says with amusement. 

“I understand you wish to marry her, is that correct?” 

“I do,” he says as he slightly lifts his head to look at you. His eyes flash into yours and you want to crumble into a puddle. He’s so beautiful and you can tell he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve right now. He will do anything to make you his forever. 

“Then will you promise to love and cherish her for the rest of your days. To also protect her from any harm, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” he smiles. 

“Y/n, with your duties I’ve already given you, will you also love and cherish him for as long as you both shall live?”

“Yes, I do,” you respond. 

He turns and grabs a goblet that’s behind him. It’s golden with emerald jewels around it. He hands it to you and directs Loki to stand. He holds your hand as you both face Odin. 

“With this, I grant you the gift of being a Valkyrie. I have no doubt you will take on this new role with great dignity. Please,” he directs you to drink what’s in the goblet. 

You glance what’s in it and it looks like starlight. Beautiful, shimmering specs of light dance inside the opaque liquid. You glance momentarily at Loki, wanting to see his beautiful face again. He smiles at you and holds your hand tightly. You bring the goblet to your lips and drink the liquid. It didn’t have any particular taste, but you can almost feel the starlight start to glimmer within you. There is no pain or discomfort, just a new sensation that you’ve never felt before. It makes you feel new and reborn. Your human life shedding away and a new divine one beginning.

You drink every last drop and open your eyes. You hand the goblet back to Odin and reach for Loki’s other hand. You feel like you’re in a slight daze and your body hums with a different energy. You look down at your arms and see nothing different. It’s just the new energy vibrating within you; your new magic. 

You look at Loki eagerly and he nods his head when he looks at you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. 

Your heart flutters when you hear those words come from his mouth. There’s such an anticipation scratching at you, dying to kiss him. It’s been so long. 

“You stand before us a Valkyrie and your new name has emerged from your new soul. You are now to be called Beyla, Goddess of the Earth.”

Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd and leaves you in complete shock. You can’t help but beam with happiness. Odin calms the crowd down and everyone settles. The assembly room is now quiet waiting for whatever else might happen.

“Lastly, I grant you two to be married. To love, cherish, and honor each other for the rest of your lives. To never forsake each other, even in times of hardship and turmoil, you must always show love to one another.”

“Loki, do you promise to love and honor her, for as long as you live?” Odin asks.

“I do,” Loki says proudly.

“Please present her with your token of love.”

He looks behind him, and his mother has a small circular, velvet box in her hand. He thanks her and faces you again. He lifts the lid off of the box and you look at him in shock. 

There in between two cushions is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on. The gold band is smoothly polished and at the center of it, a marquis stone that shifts with the light and sparkles. At first glimpse, it’s the most dazzling diamond you've ever seen, the next, it’s a green emerald. He takes your hand to put it on you and it glows.

“So you always have my magic with you,” he winks as he puts it on your ring finger. It glows the same shade of green when he uses his powers and seem to amplify now when he’s touching you. It then goes back to a sparkling diamond once he takes his hand off of you. You give him a mischievous look and he tries to hid the smug look he wants to give you. 

“Beyla, do you promise to love and honor him, for as long as you live?”

“I do,” you say with glee.

Frigga hands you the ring box. You requested something simple and not too flashy. You open the small box and find an onyx ring, hammered in texture and shines just enough in the light. You take Loki’s hand and slip it on his finger. 

“With the power within me, I pronounce you, husband and wife.” Odin announces and takes a step back.

Loki pulls you in by the waist and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck. He gives you this devious look right before he kisses you. God how has your life come to this? He presses his lips against yours and you feel your heart flutter away. You feel so full of love, so content now that you have him. He dips you back lower and the whole room explodes on applause again. You smile as you kiss him, love beating out of you and so thankful this is your life. 

He pulls you up and you both laugh. You didn’t have to say it, you know he’s knows how happy you are in this moment because he too is beaming with joy. He pulls you down the stairs and down the aisle as more rose pedals get thrown at you both. You wave at everyone as the double doors open again. Loki pulls you in again, stealing another kiss that leaves you breathless. 

*

The largest gathering you have ever seen takes place in the banquet room. So much food is prepared and everyone drinks to their hearts content. You can’t believe how incredible it all is after such short notice. You wouldn’t have noticed the difference if they were told two weeks ago or two hours ago. From the decor to the feast, everything is perfect. 

You make your rounds of talking to everyone here and lord, there is so many people. Everyone wants to know you and hear about what your life was like on earth. It’s a really weird thing to grasp at the moment. You don’t think you’ve comprehended that in a blink of an eye, your human life would no longer exist. You now live for this and everything that will come next.  Everyone is very kind to you. Even the ones who aren’t particularly fond of Loki. They respect your position and know you will protect him from himself at times. 

Loki’s hand is always holding yours or standing closely behind you. He’s so good at tagging along in the conversation and smoothly dragging you away to the next. The wine here is decadent. Everyone is handing you another and insisting you try this fruit you don’t have on earth. It’s a wonderful time and it’ll be a great memory as your first night on Asgard. 

Loki gets trapped in a conversation with some warriors and you get pulled to another group of people who want to ask you a million human questions. You’re itching to get out of the conversation when a booming voice comes from behind you just in time. 

“Excuse me, I have yet to meet the newest Valkyrie.”

You turn around and Thor stands a few feet away from you. He’s wearing his shiny silver armor, red cape flowing behind him. The sight of him annoys you slightly. After the altercation on earth, you don’t know what to say to him. Frankly, nothing good to say after the hateful things he said to you and Loki. 

You walk to him, shoulders back and chin high, not letting him intimidate you. You were technically a powerful being now too... with no knowledge of how to use such powers but whatever.  

“Thor, nice of you to come,” you say shortly. 

“Beyla, it’s an honor to be here. I wanted to congratulate you both,” he says cordially. 

“Thank you.”

“And I also need to apologize for our last interaction...” he says regretfully. 

“Ooh which one? The one on earth where you called me a hostage and I know nothing?” You say smartly. 

“Yes, that part…” he winces as he hears your scathing words. 

“I’m very sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. And the way you wanted to sacrifice yourself for my brother… I was very wrong about you, and I’m sorry.” 

His words come out so genuine and is the complete opposite of what you saw that day in New York. You believe every word too, it clearly pains him to have said those things to you. Now that you’re tied to his brother, he’ll never treat you like that again. 

“All is forgiven. I understand how this all was… a shock. I wish we could have first met on better circumstances but, I’m here now. I’m not leaving,” you quip. 

He smiles back at you and picks you up off the ground and hugs you, squeezing you tightly. He makes this boisterous laugh and spins you around. 

“I know! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve always wanted a sister! Someone I can talk to and fight with!” he laughs again and you find yourself giggling too by his goofy energy. He stops spinning you, “I probably shouldn’t fight with you though… being a Valkyrie and all. You’d probably kick my ass… one day,” he teases. You laugh and agree, “yeah just give me a few minutes to train I’m sure I’ll win a fight with no problem,” you antagonize. 

“Will you kindly put down my wife?” Loki’s voice echoes behind you. 

Thor turns around to face Loki and sets you down. Loki walks over to you both and he has a very amused look on his face. 

“Please invite me to this battle, I’d love to see you fall on your ass,” Loki antagonizes Thor. 

“Oh I don’t doubt you’ll be in the front row, brother,” he chuckles. They look at each other kind of awkwardly for a moment, then Thor pulls him in for an embrace. It surprises you, not expecting the brothers to show affection like this. 

“Good to have you back,” he murmurs to Loki. 

“Thank you,” Loki says, patting his back. 

Loki looks back at you, reaching his hand out for yours. 

“Let’s go get something to drink darling,” he says, politely pulling you from Thor. 

“Bye,” you wave at him and quickly catch up to Loki. 

“I leave you two seconds alone and my brother has you in his arms. You’re supposed to be protecting me from any chaos I might cause, remember?” He teases you, his hand squeezing at your hip to pull you in closer.  

“Forgive me, I’m still getting used to this new Valkyrie thing my love,” you quip, reaching up and placing a kiss on his cheek. 

You grab a glass of wine and you both make your way back to an empty seat at the long table. You’re about to sit down when Loki picks you up and sets you down in his lap. Your cheeks flush and you look at him in shock. He acts completely normal, not even phased by what he’s done. You both get some noticeable looks and he only makes the situation worse. He places a kiss on your neck. 

You feel your entire body burst into flames. You grab onto his arm tightly and try to not make a noticeable sound. 

“How are you enjoying the party, my darling,” he coos in your ear. 

“It’s wonderful. So much grander than I thought… but what do you think you’re doing right now?” You warn. 

“I just need my wife close before anyone else takes you in their arms. Is that a problem with you?” He teases. 

“With you, it’s a very dangerous move. I know how you think,” you warn. You brush his hair back to show more of his beautiful face, your fingertips playing with the strands in between them. 

“And what is it that I’m thinking?” He asks you, that devious smirk on his lips. 

“You want me to lose every ounce of control in front of everyone,” you grumble. 

“Oh what a lovely idea, thank you for putting that in my head,” he quips, going back to kissing you. 

You close your eyes and let him do whatever he has planned. You’re powerless compared to the charm he possesses. His hands squeeze your thighs and you do everything to not make a sound. He feels too good, his touch is amplified by the magic you now possess. 

You kiss his forehead and trail down to his ear, nipping at the sensitive skin of his neck. Your hand slithers down to his thigh, knowing he can’t help but rub against your hand. He makes a small groan, and turns his head to look at you. “You know that drives me insane,” he murmurs low in your ear. 

“Good, enjoy it,” you torment.

He looks at you with a carnal need, something you are very familiar with. You tease him a little bit longer and stand up, whispering into his ear. 

“I want you to take me to our room now,” you tell him. 

His serious eyes drown you in lust and he nods his head as if in a daze. 

You lead the way, not looking back if he’s following you. He’s close behind, matching your footsteps. Down the long hallway, you make it to the bedroom and open the door. The bed is nicely made and a dozen or so candle illuminate the room. It smells like warm vanilla and jasmine, making the room feel so warm and cozy. 

You unclip the cape from your dress and find Loki closing the door and turning the lock. His eyes drink you in like wine, slowly, savoring you in this moment. 

“How do you feel tonight, darling?” He asks you, taking a few steps toward you. 

“Wonderful, and you?” Your eyes drink him in just he same. He’s so damn irresistible. The way his hair frames his face in a dark halo, the leather suit hugging his body in all the right places and his long legs makes him look like walking sin. 

“I couldn’t be better. You look magnificent darling, so angelic in white,” he observes. He quietly walks to you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to his warm, needy body. You feel how turned on he is with his length pressing against you, aching to become free. Your hands tangle in his hair and you let out a soft sigh. 

“Thank you… I need something from you tonight,” you say quietly. 

“What is it? I’ll give you anything,” he says almost drunkenly. 

“I need you to worship me,” you demand. 

You place another kiss on his neck and look into his eyes. 

“Please,” you say low.

He takes a sharp breath in, licking his lips hungrily.

“Gladly.”

His eyes ignite with need and desire, every cell inside him burning. You turn around and have him unzip your dress without saying another word. He pauses, not attacking you like a hungry animal. No, there’s something resigned about him tonight. His fingertips shake when he grazes the curve of your back, almost like he’s afraid to touch your skin. He unzips it fully and peels it off your hips, leaving it in a pool at your feet. You turn back to face him and he’s still staring in delight at you. Your fingers graze the small crest on his chest, aching to touch his skin again. It felt so long since you were in his arms, happily and absentminded. When you naively thought he was just a mysterious man whisking you away from a party.

His breathing is shallow and slow, seeming to hold his breath being so close to you. 

“How do I get this off of you?” You say slyly.

He takes your hands and has you unbutton the top half of his suit, hidden underneath the leather crossed at his chest. Once it’s off, your hands instantly rub his sculpted chest, feeling every perfect inch of him. The loud thud of leather hits the floor as your hands continue to explore him. Your mouth gives him the same treatment, slowly kissing him, making sure every peck is agonizing for him. A low grumble forms when your hands reach his waistband of his pants. You stop short, not touching him any lower.

“Take these off,” you tell him. You walk to the bed, treading slowly to make a show out of it. You sit on the end of the bed, crossing your legs and wait for him to come to you. 

You’ve never seen him like this, so speechless and benign. You could get used to this.

He unbuttons his pants as he walks his way to you. He sheds the leather off of him and stands before you completely bare. He’s perfect. Every last inch of him. You want to touch him more but he needs to please you first. He bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at you destitute and forlorn. 

He shakes his head slightly, cursing underneath his breath, “I-I need you. I need to ravish you in every possible way,” he growls. 

Your body tingles at that prospect but you try to hide how it’s making you feel.

“No. I need you to worship me, then, if it is to my liking, I might let you do whatever you please,” you tease.

His eyes grow dangerously dark by that proposition, nearly making you a complete puddle in front of him. 

The unbearable, aching throb in between your legs is growing worse by the second. You need his touch, his lips on your skin, his tongue, his cock claiming you as his. You don’t understand how you can be so touch deprived for one man-, one god. And that god is all yours now, hanging on your every word. You open your legs and watch him fall to his knees. He places his hands on the top of your thighs, rubbing them softly and begins to kiss your inner thighs. He groans softly that he gets to feel you again, taking his sweet time. 

The feeling of him kissing you like this is new and unexplored. There’s a different spark between you two. It’s more intense. A string of magic connecting you two together to create an immense force. 

You find yourself out of breath already, your entire body buzzing with an indescribable need. His lips continue to trail up, dangerously close to your core. But he never gets there. He’s too focused on kissing you, making sure every inch of you gets the proper attention that he doesn’t notice your body trembling. You can’t help but feel on edge. You feel your nipples peak with each kiss he gives and your pulse races in your neck. You feel on fire and yet you need more of his hands. It wasn’t good enough that they are squeezing your thighs and his mouth teasing you to death. You wanted his hands in your hair as his mouth leaves little marks on your skin.

“Honey,” your voice trembling. 

He stops, looking at you with concern. 

“What is it, darling?”

“I have a small request.”

“I’ll give you anything, darling,” he says eagerly, his eyes soft and full of need.

“I want two of you, two of you worshiping me…” you sigh.

His face drops in disbelief and looks at you hungrily.

“Are you sure about that?” He asks devilishly.

Your heart hammers against your rib cage with that simple question, those eyes making you want to pass out.

“Yes, Loki…please,” you whisper.

He nods his head at you and his lips form into a sly smile. He dips his head down again and begins to kiss your thighs again. His grip on your legs tighten and he grumbles to himself as his mouth consumes all of you. Your core throbs more as his lips get closer and closer to the wetness leaking out of you.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back, wanting to completely submit to what ever he will give you. Suddenly, the bed dips behind you. Your eyes shoot open and you hold your breath. His lips find your neck and places a wet kiss there. He grumbles when he feels your warm skin.

“Mmm… hello again beautiful,” he coos in your ear. 

Your skin prickles with anticipation, feeling unglued already. 

“One of me wasn’t good enough, hmm?” He taunts.

“No, I need your hands more than one place,” you whimper.

His hands wrap underneath your arms and around your torso like ivy, slowly caressing you and grabbing handfuls of your breasts. You bite your lips to keep quiet, relishing in his touch. You don’t want to look over at him. You’d probably lose all control if you did.

Loki is still on his knees, teasing you and not giving you the touch you want. But the one behind you is giving you what you need. The slow caresses, the kisses on your neck, this is perfect. You feel his finger swipe up your slit and gather your wetness on his index. You look down at how needy he looks. He brings his finger to his mouth, swirling his tongue around to get every last drop. He groans, savoring you and looking into your eyes when doing it.

“I want more of you…can I have that?” He asks with as much mischievousness as possible.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He smirks and momentarily glances up at his double, watching him kiss on you and crumble at his touch. He looks back down at your leaking pussy and pushes one of his fingers inside you. You squirm from the sensation, all too sensitive and aching at the same time. The other one starts to roll your nipples in between his fingers, sending electric shock waves through you. You gasp and turn your head to see him.

He looks drunk on power and lust when he looks at you. He bites his lip slightly, working you to make a louder sound than the last. Between both of their fingers working you in different ways, you’re going to come undone sooner than you thought. Your hands grip tightly onto the comforter as sensations flood through you. You feel more sensitive than before. It could just be your imagination or it can be the new magic flowing through you that makes you feel so on edge.

Your hips begin to move to get more from his finger sliding in and out of you. You want to beg for more but he must know based off of the look on your face. He pushes a second finger inside you and you squeeze around him. He acts quickly, and places his mouth over your clit. The warmth of his mouth makes you melt and instantly cry out his name. His tongue teases over your clit then suckles on it to make you groan his name louder.

You can barely catch your breath, you’re trying to not get overwhelmed but he’s bringing you to the brink. The other one moves to the side of you and really looks at you for the first time. Those eyes are dangerous and make you feel like you’re on fire. His thumb rubs along your bottom lip as you stare in awe.

“Are you going to cum already, darling?” He asks smugly.

There’s no point in lying to him, so you nod your head and beg with your eyes for him to give you more. 

“Mmm, I better help with that then,” he quips.

He leans down and his mouth sucks on your perked nipple. You gasp and your eyes roll back in your head. His other hand continues to roam your aching body, softly and tenderly. 

You heave for breath and can’t think properly anymore. Your hips push against his mouth and feel the heat rushing to your lower belly. You don’t hold back any of the sounds you want to make. They both were killing you and you needed to feel the sweet release wash over you. He takes his mouth off of your clit and only pumps his fingers inside of you, curling them only when he’s deep. 

“I know you need to cum, show me how much you love it honey,” he commands.

You squeeze your eyes shut and feel the rush of release begin to form. You feel a hand wrap around your neck suddenly and that makes your eyes pop back open. It's the one next to you grabbing you like this.

“Yes, look at me when you cum,” he demands.

The rasp in his voice and his dark eyes make you lose all control. You feel your release come crashing down on you and make you feel like you’ve ascended to outer space. His eyes keep you locked on him, nodding his head as every wave of your orgasm ruptures inside you. You cry out his name, begging for more and for him to not stop. His finger keep pumping in and out of you, making the most lewd sounds come from your thighs. Your heart feels like its about to jump out of your chest the way they’re looking at you. You don’t think you’ve ever climaxed like this ever before and can’t describe how he can make you feel like this.

He stops moving inside you and pulls his fingers out of you slowly. You moan helplessly when you feel the loss of him. You turn your attention back to him between your legs. He stands up and he looks like a hungry animal, wild and untamed. He pushes back his hair out of his face and looks you over. The other one gathers all of your hair in its fist and pulls your head back. You yelp at the sudden force and shiver.

“Now, my beautiful goddess, you need to listen to us,” he growls in your ear.

“Yes, you asked for two of us, now you get to have every last inch of us,” he says darkly between your legs.

“I’ll listen to you, but I need you terribly please, don't make me beg. Don’t stop giving me more,” you cry.

They both chuckle amused, loving how they’ve gotten you so riled up. They move you up on the bed so that your head and your back are against the pillows. Loki that was on the foot of the bed, now climbs on top and continues to look over you ravenously. 

“I need one more thing… I want to see you with your horns on,” you say matter-of-factly.

He fights back a smile and in a blink of an eye, the gold, polished helmet crowns his head. This is a horrible idea. He looks even more powerful and menacing with this on. You feel yourself tremble again by the sight.

 “You’re going to ruin me, aren't you?” You whimper as your body fills with anticipation and intrigue.

He smirks at you and nods his head.

“All night if you let me… I have my full powers back again and don’t get so tired…” he alludes. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath.

“Mhmm, I can tell you’re dying for me to stuff you and make you say my name even louder,” he gloats. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt you wrap around me.”

You squirm at that proposition and whimper softly, feeling your wetness spill out of you. He spreads your legs open and lazily strokes his hard cock, watching you make a mess already. Oh god you felt just as ravenous for him to ruin you. You wanted all of him claiming you from the inside out. You need him terribly.

The one next to you puts his hand in your hair and pulls on it again. You groan as he makes you look in his direction.

“And what am I to do?” He says deviously, his hard cock resting along your chest.

“You do whatever you want… I’m very good with my mouth though,” you quip. You swear his eyes turn a different shade of blue as you meet his gaze with as much intensity. You wrap your hand around his cock and watch his mouth drop open.

“And with my hands,” you taunt.

“Fuck,” they both moan.

Your hand continues to pump on his length and make him groan in agony. The other one between your legs begins to rub his cock against your folds and bites his lip when he does it. You feel that familiar spark of electricity run through you when he does this.

“Loki please,” you gasp. You bring your other hand to push his length to your entrance. He rests it there and you feel your walls throb by just the idea of having him inside you. He grabs a hold of your thighs and plunges his length in you. You groan loudly and watch his whole length bury inside you. You flutter around him already, so overwhelmed by the size of him and having your whole body feel on edge.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groans. His hands squeeze tighter on your thighs as he slowly thrusts, trying to ground himself it seems. 

You feel so much pleasure course through you and can’t get enough. You feel the hand in your hair tighten again and he moves your head to look at him on the side of you. He kneels at the side of your head with his cock leaking with every stroke your hand gives. 

“Open your mouth, show me how much you can take. I know you can take all of it,” he glances down at where you and his double are connected and how his cock gets stuffed inside you.

You whimper, knowing you won’t be able to handle him in your mouth like last time. You swallow harshly and quiver. You’re about to protest, but the other one snaps his hips into makes you groan and snap your head in his direction.

“Listen to us darling,” he growls. “I want to watch this time while you have my cock down your throat and your pussy full of me.” 

You moan at his words and feel your body become fully aflame. 

“Yes, I’ll listen my prince,” you whine.

He thrusts his hips again and nearly makes you see stars. You gasp for air and writhe underneath him.

“No, in here darling, we are your king. You are ours and submit to only us, do you understand?” He grunts, moving with a long, and forceful thrust.

“Yes, my king, I do.”

He smirks and his hands snake up to your breasts and squeeze them. “Good, now open your mouth,” he directs.

The other one pulls on your hair again and makes you turn your head. You’re left looking at his aching, hard cock, throbbing in your hand. You open your mouth and you swirl the tip of him with your tongue. The warm, salty taste of his precum makes you moan against him and crave more of him. You hold him at the base of his cock and take him inch by inch, your tongue licking the underside of him causing him to shudder. They both make a pleased groan as he starts to move faster inside your entrance. The other moves his hips too while your tongue swirls around him.

You know he wants more but you can barely handle any of this. In one moment, you’re okay with how he is moving inside your mouth but the other, the other gets greedy and want more of you and tries to get you to squeeze around him. He will roll his hips with each thrust, getting deeper inside you nearly sucking the air out of you. It’s just a constant push and pull. When one is being dominant and needy the other is slow and soft, begging for more. 

His length hits the back of your throat and your eyes water. Your hand squeezes at the base of him and he pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for air and whine weakly. 

Both of them groan and you can’t look at them in the eye.

“Such a good girl. You look so damn good full of me,” he groans, his hips picking up pace and thrusting into you harder. You groan his name and feel your slick leak out of you with each thrust. You shake as you feel yourself going to fall apart soon.

“Open your mouth again honey. Show me how much you can take and I’ll make you cum,” he tells you groaning.

You look up at him next to you and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He grunts heavily and slides his length inside your mouth. He’s much more untamed and is chasing his own climax too. He is in full control with his hand in your hair and his hips moving. Your throat makes vile sounds as he uses you to give him so much pleasure. 

The other finds your clit and rubs it back and forth as he continues to bury himself deep inside your pussy. 

You grunt with him in your mouth and feel your climax looming over you. Your body is aching for release again and you feel him pepper kisses up your torso. He sucks on your nipple and creates the relentless need inside you. You need to hold onto him if he’d let you or you might just die. Your hand reaches out and feels the coldness of his horns. You wrap your hand around it and his mouth stops sucking on you. He grumbles low as his hips pound into you harder.

“What do you think you’re doing,” he groans. You answer with a moan, keeping his length in your mouth.

“She likes it too much and doesn’t want us to stop,” the other taunts. You groan in agreement and feel your core tighten. 

He rolls his hips and thrusts deep, hitting that part inside you that makes you see stars. Your core squeezes around him and your orgasm hits you like a train. You can barely breathe and all you see are stars behind your eyelids. He fills you so completely and knows just what to do to make you even more of a mess. You’re so overwhelmed, can’t get a grasp on one or the other. They’re moving out of sync and are just fucking you to their heart’s desire. 

“That’s it honey, take it just like that. You feel so good around me, squeezing me so tight. So hungry for it, weren’t you?” He teases.

The other next to you hums in agreement, moving your head back and forth on him. “Of course she was. She just loves to feel how big our cock is and how it fits inside her. She loves when she gets two of us. It’s going to be a terrible habit to break,” he snickers.

You wanted to smack him for saying that, surely to get a reaction out of you. You hear him moan and his hips stutter in your mouth. You grab him at the base of his cock and squeeze there, the say way your core is now squeezing around his double. He cusses your name and pours himself in your mouth. His hot cum coats your tongue and the back of your throat. You moan at the feeling of him and how much he likes it. His body continues to shudder and he quickly pulls out of your mouth, spilling the remaining arousal on your chest. He looks out of breath and completely worn. You swallow what he gave you and lick your lips for any that spilled. He watches you continue to writhe and gasp for breath as the other is still needing to cum.

“Fuck you looked so good, darling. I can’t get enough of you,” he growls, grinding himself deep inside you.

“I know, I can never get enough of you either,” you cry. You can feel yourself become hypersensitive. Every stroke of his cock made you want to scream for mercy. “Honey please cum. I need you cum, I can’t take anymore.”

He goes to kiss you and it's an all consuming kiss. It’s sloppy and full of passion. You moan in his mouth as his tongue claims you effortlessly. Before too long, you feel his length twitch inside you and his cums moaning your name, your new name. You hold onto him tightly, your nails scratching down his back and cry for him. His pace slows as he pours his seed inside you and feels your warm wet walls hug around him. 

He collapses on your chest, both of your breathing heavy and labored. You feel the other take his hand out of your hair and get off the bed. You hold Loki against your chest and try to get your bearings again. You take your time and play with the hair at the base of his neck. The raven black tresses wrap around your finger and the glow of green catches your eye. You ring illuminates with his power and radiates up your hand. 

You shake him to get him to look at what you’re seeing. He grabs your hand and squeezes it, kissing the back of it, making it glow even brighter. 

“It’s just me, radiating my power to you and vice versa. You belong to me in every possible way and protect me in every shape and form,” he professes.

“Always, because I love you,” you whisper. 

“I love you even more.” He says, kissing you softly on the lips.

Your ring continues to glow with every little touch he gives you.

“You’re going to have to show me how to use this newfound magic I possess. Maybe telling me how you do all your little tricks?” You quip.

He smiles and considers such teachings. “Perhaps I can teach you a few tricks… get one step ahead of me if I want to cause any mischief,” he teases.

“Mhmm, exactly.”

“But the illusion thing, that might have to be my one secret,” he teases.

“You’re no fun,” you pout.

“Don’t worry darling, we have so much time with each other. I’m going to enjoy every waking moment with you. You’re my everything,” he coos.

You smile at him, nodding your head and caressing his beautiful face.

“You’re everything and more.”

🐍

⚔️

✨

Standing in the strange chambers that have been placed at your disposal until the wedding night, you see your transformation in the mirror from a free maiden to a bride. Silks of white and ribbons of verdant and gold. Jewellery to match, of course.

Anyone would think you look beautiful – you do, you suppose – a smile on you lips that you have trained to maintain effortlessly to hide that the twinkle in your eyes come from unshed tears rather than joy.

Perhaps the maid that is helping you senses it, though: she’s keeping very quiet and avoid looking at your face as soon as the light makeup has been completed. She’s arranging the veil over your head when the door opens behind you, making her gasp and bow.

Loki. You see his reflection in the mirror.

“Your highness, you cannot be here!” The kind maid has the nerve to object. “It is tradition tha-”

“I don’t care,” Loki interrupts her. Not sharply as you might have expected, though.

Stepping past her, you see in the reflection how his eyes are on you but you don’t move to face him even as he comes to stand right behind you. For a moment he tries to find your gaze behind the veil in the mirror. Maybe to see if you are smiling at his presence? You are not.

Turning his head, he addresses the servant. “Step outside and close the door after you.”

The poor maid actually hesitates, looking to you for approval and you give it with a curt nod. Moments later the door closes.

The prince turns back to you, his fingertips skimming your wrist. “I know you did not ask for this union...and you may be mourning your old life.” His fingers loosely tangle with yours, giving you a chance to pull away if you wanted to. “I wish to be...I wish to be a good husband to you but I will need your help to find out how to honour you and make you happy. If you are willing to teach me, wear this when next we face each other.”

As he speaks the last words, something appears between your hands and you automatically take hold of it. Leaves and flowers, braided into a crown. Lifting it, you see the same colours as your outfit.

“I shall respect your choice. If you choose not to wear it, I will give you as much freedom from me as I can,” Loki explains before turning and striding towards the door.

“Lo- your highness...” You can see in the mirror that he pauses with a hand on the handle. “Thank you.”

You mean it.

When the maid rushes back, she reaches for the golden diadem in the box to fix the veil with.

“Not that,” you hear yourself say. “This one.”

As she fixes the flower crown on your head, you feel the unshed tears disappear.

With your robe and slippers on, you moved through the hallways of the palace, escorted by your servant and a stray Einherjar. Your footsteps echoed off the sparkling arches, your shadows drawing shapes with the help of the torches.

You were escorted until the large, imposing doors of your husband’s chambers, after which you were left alone. Your knock against the wood, although quiet in consideration of the late hour, sounded atrociously loud in the abandoned halls.

“… Enter.”

You cautiously opened one of the doors just enough to slip inside, closing it slowly behind yourself to limit the disturbance.

“Wife…? What in the Norns are you doing here?” Loki asked, one brow raised. He was stood in the middle of his chambers, black hair and sleepwear looking perfect for someone who had so clearly been asleep. There was a small, floating ball of soft light at his side. His magic, you ventured.

“Well… I do remember being sharply awoken a mere few minutes ago because you’d called for me.”

“Called for you… Ah. Yes, perhaps…” He looked away, pondering away at something and looking what you might only call the most embarrassed you’d ever seen him.

“It seems it was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” You urged, one of your own brows raised now.

“Yes, yes. Rather… I called for you, but it was… It was right as I’d woken up. It meant nothing, or… shouldn’t have been taken for my true word. The one time our servants opt to have stellar hearing.” He rolled his eyes, pushing his hair back with an annoyed expression.

“Therefore… you wish for me to leave?” You asked, crossing your arms.

You were quite annoyed, now. You’d been woken up in the middle of the night, gotten out of your warm bed and made yourself presentable in order to rush to your husband through the cold halls to play a dutiful wife, only for him to supposedly claim it had all been a misunderstanding. If this happened to be another one of his japes…

Loki looked you over, likely noticing how you’d hurried out of bed for him. He sighed.

“It… is late. Cold, too, arguably. You mustn’t make the trek back to your bedchambers if you do not wish it. My bed is big enough for two. For five, even. A technicality.” He grinned slightly, a little of his usual self returning. It looked right in its element there, his grin. In the middle of the night, in the quiet of slumber, with nothing but magic and night sky to bring it to your attention.

“You are certain?”

He huffed, already walking back to his bed.

“Wife, you have been in my bed before. Do not play the prudish bride now.”

You considered your options, and made your decision rather quickly. Between walking back to your lonely, now cold bed, and sharing a bed with your rather cold husband, you found yourself climbing into the other side.

Loki hummed, watching you climb into bed once you’d rid yourself of your robe and slippers.

“You are brave after all. Or, perhaps, is it the shadows in your rooms that you are afraid of and so you’ve opted to stay with your husband. The choices are not too different, I assure you. Though that will not reassure you of your final choice.”

“What are you speaking of, Loki?”

“Nothing, wife. Go to sleep. I am sorry I woke you.” He replied, voice much quieter now, his ball of light dimming with a flick of his wrist.

You both made yourselves comfortable in his bed, fluffing up pillows and pulling covers every which way until you felt settled. It was quiet now, but stilted, unlike what a marriage bed’s first months should be like.

“Why did you wake up?” You whispered into the dark.

“How do you know I simply was not awake the entire time? Brooding, perhaps.”

You glared in his general direction.

“… I had an… inconvenient dream.”

“You mean a terror?”

“How do you know?”

“Your murmuring woke me up when I spent the night here a few nights ago.”

“Ah. My apologies. A husband should not be waking up his wife in the middle of the night with his worries.”

“With what should he, then?”

Loki let out a small sound of amusement, but did not reply.

You assumed that the return of silence meant that it was officially time to attempt a return to sleep, and so you got comfortable, and closed your eyes.

However, you were startled a few seconds later with a gentle brush of a hand against your left calf. Your eyes shot open, a gasp leaving your throat.

“Loki-?”

He shushed you softly, the sound still coming from your side and definitively not from beneath the covers.

“What the Hel-”

“Wife, calm down…” Loki murmured, moving suddenly to embrace you from where he was laid onto his side, encouraging you to rest on your back.

You looked at him in pure terror. Why did he not believe you? You had felt something at your calf.

“Have you heard the rumours?” Loki murmured, caressing your side gently.

“The- What are you doing, husband? I told you I have felt something-” You hissed, moving to sit up and pull away.

Loki held onto you, whispering a word or two of comfort.

“All is well. All is well, wife. Stay calm.” He cooed, the two of you still looking at one another.

“Have you heard the rumours they tell of me? The ones about my many lovers, and of my expertise?”

You scoffed.

“Is this meant to be making me feel better? Putting me to sleep, are you?” You sneered.

Loki sighed.

“My, but you can be a stubborn mule when you wish to be. There is nothing to fear. It is only you and I in this bed. I swear.”

“I was warned that your words are not to be trusted.”

“Were you warned about my tongue and my talents with it?” He whispered, pulling you closer now.

“What? Loki, did you hit your head upon startling awake?”

He chuckled darkly and kissed your jaw.

“Before we were married, were you aware of what can happen in a marriage bed?”

“Yes, and then I experienced it. I have not forgotten your body, worry not.” You quipped, not understanding what he was prattling on about.

“So spirited.” He whispered, voice full of admiration. “That is not what I meant. Have you not wondered why I never kissed at your quim when I’ve kissed at the thing between all of my previous lovers’ legs?”

You huffed.

“I do not understand.”

“If you have heard of the rumours, it would only be natural that you would feel… lesser than for not experiencing it.”

“You think far too highly of yourself.”

He chuckled anew.

“Are you not curious, my wife? Of why I have not indulged? Of what it would feel like?”

“Fine. Let us say that I am incessantly curious so that this conversation can reach its end and we can go to sleep.”

“Because I have been scared. Scared that what is between your legs will please me in taste more than anything else ever has. That, like the rest of you, if I indulge, I shall not wish to stop.” He murmured against your cheek, still holding you close.

Your entire body went still in shock. Was he alright? Where in the Nine was this coming from? Was he suddenly trying to seduce you for some reason?

“I do not lie. Or come to you with this truth tonight in order to get something from you. I will do nothing to you, unless you wish it. However…” You felt the undeniable feeling of a kiss to your calf and yelped.

Loki shushed you, gently lifting the covers so that you could both look down between your legs, where Loki was now lying on his stomach. Loki?

“However, he, and I, would love for him to get a taste of your nectar. I am achingly hard at the mere thought, my love.”

‘My love’? Two Lokis? Had you hit your head?

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Loki shushed you gently, kissing your temple.

“It is simply some of my magic, my love. I am me, and he is himself, but me, as well. If you wish it, he will make you feel wonderful, and I will stay here, and hold you close all the while.”

“But… but why?  Why magic?” You murmured, the double now kissing slowly up the side of your calf.

“Why? Because I desire you ardently. Because I desire you so badly that I cannot, for once in my life, do both at once. I feel I could not enjoy giving you pleasure and seeing you receive it all at once. I must enjoy them individually. I would get too caught up in your taste, my love. Would go mad.”

You gulped, breaths already quicker as you looked to your husband. It had never been like this between the two of you before. But you couldn’t deny that you had heard the rumours and that you had always wanted to experience it for yourself. You found yourself nodding shakily.

Loki groaned softly, mashing his lips to your cheek.

You suddenly felt the kisses at your hip, the double pushing your nightdress up. You gasped, keeping eye contact with Loki.

Your eyes widened at the feeling of fingers – Loki’s fingers – spreading your folds open, and squeaked when you felt his warm tongue trail a line up your center.

“Loki-”

“Oh, I know, my darling. I know.” Loki murmured, kissing your mouth.

The Loki below the covers let out his own sound of pleasure, the tip of his tongue flicking repeatedly against your bud. It felt insanely good. Knowing it was him, but having him hold you through it, as well. Otherworldly and new, as all things seemed with him.

“I bet you taste so delightful. Ripe, ripe as juicy peaches. Norns, look at you. Trembling in my arms and I’ve barely started.”

Your breaths were coming fast now, a moan leaving your mouth as Loki’s lips closed around your bud, sucking on it tenderly, his fingers teasing your entrance without even penetrating it. Simply letting your center contract in anticipation.

“I knew you’d like that. Good… good.” Loki murmured against your mouth before kissing you slowly. His hand at your side moved to rest on your breast, thumbing your nipple gently.

Your back arched when you felt Loki’s fingers gently penetrate you, most of his focus still on your nub.

You didn’t know what to do. You felt you had to return the favour, your hand going beneath the covers, between Loki’s thighs. He hissed and his eyes rolled back once your hand made contact with his hardened cock, but he tutted, placing your hand instead on his double’s head.

“No. Not now, my love. Please, let me focus entirely on you and your sounds.” He pleaded, and at your shaky nod, he kissed you again.

The double’s tongue moving to replace his fingers at your entrance made you moan into Loki’s mouth. Loki held you to his side, still caressing your breast as he used his free hand to lift one of your legs onto his in order to open you up even more.

“Loki, oh, Loki, it feels so good-” You gasped out.

“I know, darling. And it makes you look so beautiful. I cannot wait to see you come.” He pulled the top of your nightgown down in order to kiss at your neck and chest.

The feelings were getting to be overwhelming. Loki’s mouth on your breasts, and Loki’s tongue tasting your juices all while his thumb rubbed at your clit. Your hand grasped onto the double’s hair pulling him closer to your womanhood, needing more and more of everything. You could barely breathe from the absolute Valhalla that your husband was letting you experience at his own hands (and mouths). You suddenly felt for all the women who did not have husbands powerful enough to double themselves in order to grant them pleasure.

With two of your husband entirely focused on your ecstasy, your sounds of pleasure came freely into the silence of his bedchambers. You could feel yourself climbing towards that elusive peak already, your thighs starting to tremble slightly and your lower stomach fizzing with warmth and giddiness. Never in your life could you have guessed that this is what your mundane night would end up leading to.

“Loki… mm, I’m so- I‘m-” You gasped out, unsure of which one you were talking to, the words slipping out.

Loki pulled his mouth off your breast, looking slightly flushed as he met your eyes.

“That’s alright, my love. Let it happen, let it come over you, my darling.” He soothed, kissing your neck and moving back to your side so he could kiss your mouth. He could not get enough of you. Holding you close and kissing you, all the while his double also held onto your thighs tightly, sinful sounds leaving him at the simple taste of you. The two of them in ecstasy from simply pleasuring you. The idea was startlingly new to you.

You came with a drawn-out call of his name, Loki moaning at your expression and at the sound you’d let out. Your vision went starry, everything but the heartbeat in your ears going quiet as you came down. When you found you felt more yourself again, you opened your eyes to find Loki looking over you fondly.

“You were absolutely exquisite, my love. As I knew you would be.” He murmured.

His voice was gentle, but you could tell that he was anything but unaffected. He seemed even more aroused, if possible. His eyes were dark, and they were settled onto your mouth, his own tongue moving over his lips.

You realized with a start that his double was no more.

“It is truly only you and I now, darling.” Loki said, lip twitching with his usual mirth.

“… That is a shame, I rather enjoyed him.” You mused coyly.

“Hm, he enjoyed you, too, minx. We can invite him back, I promise. However, some other time. I have a want to have you on my own, now.”

“I thought we were going back to sleep?”

He chuckled.

“How can you honestly expect me to go to sleep now, darling? I am still very much hard, and my mouth yearns to find itself between your legs. I simply cannot resist the urge after seeing what I can do to you.”

You huffed, the giddiness of your release making you bold and eager to tease him.

“Your mouth was at my cunt a mere few minutes ago, husband. You are forgetting yourself.”

His eyes sparkled with interest, his mouth curling up into a smirk.

“Filthy words. Look at what has happened to you after one instance of coming upon my tongue. My talents have changed you. Insolent, filthy wife.” He growled playfully, pulling the covers to the side and moving between your legs.

“Fret not, I will use my skilled tongue to bring you back to yourself, wife.” He grinned against the apex of your thighs, placing his first kiss to your clit shortly after.

His first glimpse of her was of her hand coming out of the opened carriage so that it could be taken by a coachman, helping her out and onto the ground. She was wearing another one of her dresses, and, he noticed with little difficulty (for he had taken care to memorize each one) that it was a new one. One he had not seen before. Likely something she had asked to be made while visiting her family.

He saw the small smile she gave the coachman in thanks, before beginning her ascension of the steps into the palace, her lady following behind her, her belongings behind them both. It would only be a few minutes until she was in front of him once more, her eyes caressing every inch of him just as his would every inch of her. He had spent their time apart yearning after her, spiting her kind heart even though he knew he had no right to. He appreciated every single thing that made her who she was, for each one of those things meant that she was the one who was to be his wife. If it was not for her kindness, he would not be getting married to the same woman, and so he would cherish it, even if it had caused his own selfish heart pain.

Loki, pulling at his fingers which were currently behind his back, walked back over to his favoured settee, the one closest to the fireplace, and sat down in a pose he hoped conveyed relaxed confidence. He waited patiently, or so he told himself, though his foot was tapping against the floor incessantly.

She did not come. He gave her ample time. He knew it would take her, with her usual stride, a certain number of minutes to arrive at his chambers. He gave her double that time, if not triple. After about double the time, he’d begun to pick at his fingers, his foot tapping faster. He tried to reason with himself. Perhaps she wished to change first. Perhaps her hair had come undone. Perhaps she wished to change her jewelry. Or, perhaps, she wished to bathe. He would give her that comfort, naturally, even though he believed she had nothing to change. He would gladly, most gladly, take her as she is, for she was perfection incarnate, and he had already waited and waited to have her near again.

And so, despite his already great impatience, he gave his beloved more time. He spent the time pacing, then playing with his magic, then with an attempt at reading by the fire. It did not go well. He felt that he was going half-mad.

After an hour of waiting for her, he began to think that she wished for him to go to her, even though it was not how they had usually done things. He was desperate to see her anew, and yet he still remained hesitant and unsure.

Was there a chance, no matter how slim, that she was cross with him? Perhaps because he had not been there to greet her in person? Or maybe he had not sent her enough letters during her absence? Even though he had sent her a letter each day, with some simply being him talking of books he’d been reading because nothing exciting had happened from the last letter he’d written. He did not know, and Loki hated not knowing.

He gave her another hour, one he spent pacing, and then sitting, and then fiddling with, and pulling at, his hair in worry. It was in time for supper that he finally allowed himself to leave his chambers, in search of the dining hall. He was certain that he would see her there, with the rest of his family eager to welcome her back to Asgard, with his mother eager to ask her of her family’s wellbeing, and of her travels. His heart stuttered the entire walk to the dining hall, a most embarrassing feeling that he would not have dwelled on if it hadn’t been caused by her. He could hardly wait at this point. To see her, smell her, hold her.

She was not at supper.

No one knew why, but his mother had been told by her own ladies that his betrothed had been utterly apologetic for missing the evening meal. Loki knew now, while he sat in his seat and moved the food on his plate around aimlessly, that she was most definitely cross with him. He spent all of supper sulking and mulling over what he could have possibly done to upset his love.

The moment supper ended and his parents rose from their seats with the intention to retire, Loki stood as well. His heart was scolding him for not running towards her chambers instantly, but his mind was telling him to hold, to wait a beat longer. He was fearful.

Thor remained, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three at his side, all with ale in their hands.

One look at them, all joyful and in good company, spurred Loki into action. He wished to finally find his very own joyful company. He would grovel if need be, he was not afraid of it when it came to her.

It was convenient that upon reaching her chambers, her lady was leaving them, an empty tray at her side. She caught sight of him and curtsied.

“Is she within?” Loki’s voice was hushed, gaze flicking towards the wooden doors which suddenly seemed far more ominous than ever before.

It was almost as if he feared her being absent from her chambers more than her being cross with him, for he feared where else she could be in the evening. With whom else she could be.

“Yes, your grace.” Her lady replied, and the heavy weight lifted itself from his chest.

“She was not at supper.” He named the truth plainly, watching the girl carefully. She simply nodded. Loki leaned in closer, words even more hushed. “Is she cross with me?” He could feel his heart, in his throat, beating up a storm, almost as if he was riding into battle.

The girl let out a breath, and smiled lightly as she shook her head.

“No, your grace. Not at all. She is cross with herself, if anything.”

The words had Loki frowning.

“Whatever for?”

“My lady returned feeling unwell. She, despite wishing to be reunited with you most ardently, thought it best to remain in her chambers and prioritize her recovery. She is cross with herself that her health has caused her to delay your reunion.”

Loki had heard nothing after the word ‘unwell’. His beloved, unwell? It would not do. Not at all. He had to know how serious it was, had to see her now more than ever. He would die of it, if he had to, if it meant doing it with her at his side once more.

“Ill? The lady is ill?” He felt numb, fingertips itching with magic, with the instinct to heal, to do something for her.

“I have just brought her tea, my prince.”

“I shall be going in.” Loki said, his words aimed at the Einherjar standing by the doors. He realized he could ask her lady-in-waiting about her illness, but he did not wish to be lied to or to be delivered flowered words. He wanted the truth, and he would find it out by himself.

The lady-in-waiting and Einherjar shared a quick look before the Einherjar moved, opening one of the doors. Loki was quick, more impatient than ever now that he was mere inches from breathing the same air as her once more, to slip into her rooms.

She was sitting up in her bed, furs pulled up to her chest, her back against the headboard. She seemed entirely surprised to have anyone entering her rooms, and then even more surprised to realize that Loki, of all people, was the intruder, her eyes widening.

“My lady,” He knew that he sounded entirely frantic and agitated (so different from what he usually aimed for) as he strode towards her bed, finally standing at her side.

She, still entirely surprised and put-out by his presence, pulled the furs higher up her frame, her eyebrows pulling together. She was being so quiet, Loki thought. His presence tonight had clearly distraught her.

“I have just been told you are ill. You missed supper. Were not seen by anyone upon your arrival at the palace. Were quick to go to your chambers.” He recounted the facts quickly, watching her swallow. “Your lady told me that you are not cross with me, but seeing you now, and with what your behaviour has been since your return, I grow unsure of that statement.” He sounded worried again.

She took a slow breath, and then cleared her throat, a hand to her chest.

“I… am not cross.” She said weakly, her voice entirely too hoarse.

Loki felt a fool for the tenth time that night.

“You are ill.” He announced dumbly.

For the eleventh time that night, then.

She smiled softly, and nodded. Her eyes were quick, alert and observant as always, flicking over every inch of him that they could reach. He could see now, if only he had seen moments ago, too, that her eyes conveyed her relief at seeing him again. She was not cross with him. The opposite, even.

His eyes did the same, and they were fast to catch the way her mouth opened, readying to speak. He reached out a hand, putting it up between them.

“Save your voice, please.” His words were tender in the soft quiet of her chambers, now that he was confident that their relationship was unperturbed.

She seemed eager to protest, but simply sighed and rested the back of her head back against her pillow. Loki looked to the side table, and took in hand the tea that had been brought to her, bringing it to her lips after blowing on its surface gently.

She took a slow sip of it, and he watched her, fond as ever.

“Is it only your voice? Have you a fever?” He asked all while reaching his hand out to touch her forehead for a fever. There was none, and the shake of her head confirmed it. She placed a hand over her throat in answer, too. He nodded.

“I had to see you, forgive me. I believed you to be cross with me.” He confessed, and he felt much like he had as a young boy, confessing to having done something entirely foolish for his own benefit.

She smiled at him and it was as gentle as the feeling of the petals of the flowers he loved to pick for her brushing against his skin.

She shook her head, reaching for his hand.

“Never.” She replied weakly, the word somehow still maintaining all the gentleness he was sure it would usually carry coming from her.

Loki had spent nearly a month wishing to hear her voice again, and yet now that he was hearing it again, he could not let himself thrive in the sound of it again. It was not the same, hearing her but having her in pain for his benefit.

“As much as I am glad to have you speak to me anew, my love, I would rather you spare yourself of the pain that comes with it. I would only have you speak to me once you are fully recovered. Never would I wish to cause you pain.” He kissed her head, and then, reaching for her hand, kissed her knuckles one by one.

She pulled on his hand lightly, making space for him on her bed. He was quick to make himself comfortable, pulling his boots off and sitting himself at her side, his arm pulling her into his side. All felt right, or nearly so. It would have been perfect if he could have her as talkative as she usually was, recounting all that he already knew of her trip from their correspondence into his chest, her voice light and soothing as ever.

He was determined to have her recover, to have his love feeling her best again. He hated feeling powerless.

“I shall have to distract you, beloved, to keep you from talking.” His words were a soft murmur against her hair, kissing her there anon. He gave her yet another chance to sip at her tea before placing it back onto her side table.

She looked to him, her expression giving away her curiosity.

“I have missed you so very much, as I am sure you have realized. You are so very bright, after all. In both mind and spirit.” His hand, of its own volition, had begun to run up and down her arm. “I had imagined our reunion going differently.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, letting herself listen to him intently. Admiring his voice after her time apart from it and its low, softened timbre. Loki knew then that he had her.

“I imagined it beginning multiple ways. But you always came up to my chambers. Eager, to the point where I could hear your steps coming towards the doors. I would open them for you, and you would stumble in, breathless, looking as pretty as a jewel, though prettier than any jewel that could ever be gifted to another. I would wrap my arms around you, pull you close, take a breath and smell you and the oils you’d chosen in your bath that same morning,” He paused then, with his nose pressed to the skin of her temple, and he inhaled slowly. “and then, only then, would I kiss you. I would begin with a kiss to your hand, naturally. Then I would move up your arm slowly, until I was at your elbow. I would pull you ever closer, and kiss your mouth.” He took in a hungry breath, rearranging his legs. He could feel her clutching lightly at his tunic. “You would be as sweet as ever on my mouth, and then on my tongue, too. You’d hold onto me the way you are now, if not more. Only then, would I speak to you, say your name and have you say mine in return.”

She lifted her head, looking into his eyes. She did not speak his name, though he saw the urge she had to do it in her eyes. He spoke hers softly, reverently, his eyes locked onto her mouth, unashamed.

“Afterwards, I would take you with me, to my bed, and I would help you sit down on it and make you comfortable.” Loki resumed, his gaze unmoved. “I would remain off my bed, and would rest myself beside it, on my knees. Looking up at you, at my goddess, and at how utterly enticing you would look. You would look at me pointedly, and I would know what my queen would be asking of me. My hands…” His hands slowly pulled the furs lower, revealing her nightgown to the rooms’ air. “would begin their ascent up your legs and below your skirts. My head would soon follow below your skirts.” They both took in a breath, matched in intensity.

Loki leaned down, unable to help himself, pressing a warm kiss to her bared neck, feeling the warmth already waiting for him there. He pulled her into an embrace from there, admiring the feeling of being so whole once more.

“I would drag your undergarments down your legs with my mouth. But not before wetting them with my tongue, more than eager to taste you. And utterly impatient.” She shuddered against him at the image his words created in her mind.

“And then, like I have shown you time and time again, I would please my betrothed. Welcome her home.” Loki breathed against her neck, smelling her even better there. The feeling of her hand finding its way beneath his tunic to palm at his hardened member had him closing his eyes, a soft hiss pressing against her skin. She was breathing heavily, too.

He pulled his mouth from her neck, wanting to memorize the newly appeared darkness in her eyes. It had been a near month since he’d last seen it, after all. She looked him over, too, her gaze finding its focus point on his mouth.

“As I said, that is how I imagined our reunion.” He spoke softly, regaining some composure. He reached out tenderly, caressing the side of her face. “However,” He tutted softly. “my lady finds herself unwell, and that did not come to pass.”

He paused, just enough to see her looking forlorn and dejected at the prospect of not getting his mouth on her. The sight only made him that much hungrier for her. More determined to give it to her.

“Never fear, though, because my lady is set to be wed to a most ingenious prince who is undeterred by a few simple alterations to his plans.”

He lifted the furs briefly, enough to move himself under them. It instantly felt warmer now that he and she finally had nothing truly between them. Nothing to stop them. To stop nature from running its course.

You also did not miss how he had begun calling his colours and his symbols 'ours' ever since you'd wed. It was an honour, in your mind, to have a man so usually solitary to include you into something he'd had as his own for a millennium. 

For the benefit of the nobles who still loved to watch you both (you were still newlyweds after all), you thought, Loki brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles openly in front of everyone. 

Your eyes met as he did it, and his were noticeably darkened.

He loyally held onto your hand for the rest of dinner, whenever he could. Even when he conversed with others, and even when you did. And he watched you try wine from his own goblet brought to you all by a noble, a small smirk on his face. 

When dinner reached its end, with the nobles now moving onto even wilder conversations (and more dancing) from their drinking during dinner, Loki gave you another pointed look and you nodded. 

He turned to his mother and the All-Father, both to his left.

"Mother, Father, I shall go walk my wife back to her chambers now that dinner has ended. If I've your permission, of course." 

Frigga looked to Loki first, then to you, with a gentle smile on her face. Odin simply waved his hand in something likely symbolizing 'you are free to do as you wish, leave me to my business'. 

"Of course, my son." Frigga replied in place of the All-Father, her looks between the two of you knowing and slightly amused. "Have a pleasant sleep, my daughter." She added as Loki offered you his hand so you might stand from your seat, her eyes twinkling. 

Loki and you bowed your heads in the direction of his parents, and Loki led you, arm-in-arm, into one of the unassuming doors to the side of the royal dinner table, and then through small, empty passageways until you found yourselves back into the main hallways near his chambers. 

You'd both known for all of dinner that you would not be walked back to your own chambers. And, it seemed, Frigga had known, too. 

The Einherjar standing by the doors of Loki's chambers moved aside at the sight of you both and opened the doors for you. Loki allowed you to walk in, but stayed behind briefly to speak to the two men. 

"No disturbances tonight." You heard him tell them. 

He walked in after you and locked the doors behind himself with a flick of his wrist. 

You'd busied yourself with pouring some wine into one of the empty goblets standing by the pitcher. Loki walked up behind you and placed a light hand onto your bicep, taking the goblet with his other hand and taking a sip. You bit your tongue at how easily he seemed to take things that were to be your own, reminding yourself that you were married now. 

"Nothing from the healers, then?" He asked softly, mouth against your temple. 

"No, nothing..." You answered. 

He tutted softly, and kissed your temple.

"Very well, we shall try again, then." 

"Loki... I wish you would not worry so... we've been married for but a few months." 

"Perhaps, wife, but I've ended up married before Thor, and with him seemingly not any closer to finding his own spouse, the responsibility of heirs comes to me. To us." 

You nodded shakily, holding your breath as he leaned down to kiss your neck. 

You supposed it was odd, to find yourself in such a relationship. One where your marriage had been unexpected and arranged, but where you’d ended up incredibly compatible on at least one front. Indeed, you were friendly enough with one another, and there was no malice in your relationship, but you did not think there was reciprocated love, either. Passion, however, there was. And quite a lot of it. This has led to many nights and mornings (and afternoons) of the both of you stuck in an amorous embrace all over the palace.

Recently, however, Loki had resorted to limiting your trysts (or trying to) to his bed or yours, because it had become his unofficial duty to bring in heirs for his family, even though he was not the crown prince.

“So… again, then?” You whispered, gasping as he sucked onto the spot he’d been kissing.

“Mhmm. Again.” He replied simply, his hand moving from your bicep down around your middle.

“You had me this morning, husband.” You reminded him shakily. “Our efforts might have been fruitful that time.”

He hummed softly, gently holding you to him as he walked backwards, towards the doors leading to his bedchambers.

“Perhaps. And yet, I find myself wishing to be certain, my wife. Do you wish to tell me that you mind how often we find ourselves in such predicaments? I shall desist in pursuing you for a while, if that is so, and allow you to come to me when you are next ready. However-”

“-No.” You replied hastily, the speed of your reply catching you both off guard and flustering you (but amusing him).

“As I thought, then.” He kissed your jaw.

You’d ended up in his bedchambers before you’d even realized it, too caught up in his careful hold on you and his kisses to your neck and face. He had always, always, been an incredibly attentive lover. It is perhaps why you enjoyed your more private moments as a wife so much.

“We both lied earlier, you know.” Loki whispered against your skin, pressing your front against the doors (now closed) leading back out into his sitting room.

“Hm?” You were distracted, not really listening.

“You claimed you had not noticed I’d forgone my helm. An awful lie, wife. I caught you staring.” He purred, his teeth pulling lightly onto your earlobe. You gasped, one of your hands coming up against the wood of the door for stability.

“And, I, in turn, said I enjoyed your dress. I lied. It causes me both great pain and great pleasure. See, you are utterly ravishing in it. That is the truth. But the garment pains me all the same, because you had others staring, and because I wish the dress burned in a fire for ever having touched your skin.”

“You are being entirely dramatic.” You gasped out.

“Am I?” His hand had reached down, and was now gripping some of your skirts. “I wish to have you so badly… the only thing I have been able to focus on since I woke up today has been the sweet cunt beneath these skirts.”

Both of you were panting by this point, and you’d not even touched one another yet. You felt hot, and you were glad for his hand around you, keeping you steady. You could feel yourself wanting him, aching for him.

“Husband…” You began shakily. He groaned softly in response, loving how the title sounded from you.

“Tell me. Ask, and I shall give you the world.”

“I want you.”

He hummed softly, slipping his hand beneath your skirts, sliding it up above where your stockings ended. You both gasped quietly when you felt his bare hand on your bare thigh.

“How do you want me?” He asked, the words spoken against your ear.

“Right here.” You could not wait. You could feel him, hard and throbbing against your behind, and the knowledge of his own desire was making you even more desperate to feel him inside of you again.

“Here, against the wall?” He whispered, evidently pleased at your desperation. He chuckled and shook his head slowly, rubbing his nose against your cheek as he did it. “No, wife. Not here. We will take one another on the bed. However,” His hand slipped higher up your skirts, now reaching your inner thighs.

You shuddered against him, and his free hand pulled you closer to him. It only made you more eager, now pressed impossibly closer to his cock. He let out a shaky sigh, and you felt him begin to lightly move against you.

His fingers slipped beneath your undergarments, and made contact with the heat and wetness waiting for him there. He moaned right into your ear.

“You are sodden, darling.” He essentially praised, the pet name only making it worse for you. He only ever called you that when you were in private, and so you mostly associated it with such moments. “Is that from you seeing me at dinner, or from this morning, even?” He purred, kissing your jaw and moving back to kissing your neck.

You gasped softly as his fingers began to touch you, spreading the wetness they found around your center.

“We shall not be intimate against the doors,” He began again, reprising your earlier discussion. “But, I can make certain you are ready for me here. Is that agreeable to you?”

You nodded dumbly, your forehead pressed to the wood. Everything felt far too warm, your insides molten, and you wanted nothing more than to see him naked again and to touch him. Anything he could give you right now, you ached for. His fingers, his cock, or, Norns, his mouth.

“What has you so excited, darling?” His words were soft, intimately pressed against your skin. “I felt you tighten around my fingers, my sweet minx. Tell me what you want.”

“I was thinking about… about,” You moaned, feeling a second one of his fingers slip into your entrance. “About your mouth.”

You could nearly taste his smirk in his words.

“My mouth? Where?” He played coy, lightly biting at your shoulder.

“You know,” You growled softly, not interested in playing his games.

“No, I’m afraid I do not.” The smug bastard.

“At my cunt.” You said, your patience lost, and he rewarded you with a curl of his fingers.

“Is that what you want, my darling? My mouth at your cunt? You would allow me a taste of that honey?”

“Stop teasing me…” You pleaded softly, gasping as his fingers sped up.

“Say my name.” Was his reply, a plead of his own, and you realized he’d been lightly moving against your back this entire time, his movements growing more insistent.

“Husband…” You whispered up to the ceiling, your turn to play coy.

His fingers stopped their movement in reply, as he clicked his tongue lightly in frustration.

“Do not play with me now, dearest. Not when you are being such a wanton, sodden minx, desperate for her husband.”

“I rather think you are desperate for me, husband.” You retorted breathily.

His free hand moved up, pinching at one of your nipples through your dress.

“You little hellion…” He sounded impressed, if not even more aroused. He liked your bite, you knew that. “You will not get my mouth now, you know… and I was feeling so very generous just a few moments ago, too. A true shame.” He tutted softly. You knew he was playing, something you both did a lot of in such moments. He would give you what you wanted at some point tonight, you were sure. He always gave you what you asked of him.

“What will I get, then?” You were feeling emboldened now, wanting to push him a bit further.

You whined lightly as he removed his fingers from inside you, and he answered with a light chuckle.

“Do not try to keep me inside, darling. I can feel you tightening.” He purred smugly against your shoulder, now squeezing your breast with his free hand.

“What will I get?” You repeated.

“Do not get insolent, darling. You know how much I love it.”

“Loki…” You moved one of your hands behind you, and between your two bodies, wanting to palm at his hard cock, perhaps even give it a teasing squeeze or two.

He let you (naturally) and groaned with pleasure when you did as you’d wanted, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“You will end me.” He warned lightly.

“Stop me, then.” You challenged.

“Are you asking to be restrained, darling?”

“I think you should be, in truth.”

“I would not say no to that… however, whose fingers would pleasure you then?” He teased, panting as you squeezed his cock lightly through his leathers.

“My own, maybe.”

He groaned.

“You would not be cruel enough to deny me of that sight, would you?”

“A question for another time.” You replied, turning around in his arms and pushing him lightly backwards, towards his large bed. He went all too willingly, his clothes dissipating with an easy snap of his fingers, as he moved to lie back on his bed.

“Impatient, then?” He teased, eagerly watching you as you mounted him.

“Your games can get quite tedious, husband.”

“Hm… much like your clothes in this moment, wife. You have far too many of them, for one.” He decreed, his hands tugging on your hips hungrily so that you’d grind against his cock.

“Take them off, then.” You panted, placing a hand on his bare chest for stability.

He grunted, looking at the cut of your dress intently and the way your breasts heaved against it.

“Usually, and you know this, darling, I would love to slowly unlace this delicate dress. But I find myself far too impatient to feel your sweet cunt again.” He rasped, snapping his fingers again and leaving you just as naked as him.

You stared at one another for a moment, before your eyes dragged down and towards his bare chest and all the muscles there. He was truly an irresistible work of art. Loki’s eyes, however, had landed on your breasts far too happily. You eventually, after settling your own hand onto his abdominals for a feel of them (a right you were very much afforded), lifted your hips slightly, intending to finally feel him inside of you again. He raised a brow at the movement, and smirked from his place beneath you.

“As much as I would love to have you ride me, darling, I think not.” He said, suddenly flipping you over and leaving you in his previous spot. Before proceeding, however, he made sure you were comfortable, with a pillow beneath your head. On his way back to leaning over you, Loki got distracted and ended up lavishing your breasts with some light kisses and bites, one of his favourite things to do to you.

You huffed, truly impatient for, frankly, his cock, and you wrapped your legs around him, your ankles crossed and pressing against his (wonderful) behind. He chuckled in reply, placing a hand by your head and propping himself up like that.

“Very well, my impatient temptress.” He purred, taking himself in hand and moaning softly as he stroked himself briefly.

You tried very hard not to look, but could not help it in the end, his sounds too tempting (likely on purpose). Your eyes found his cock, and the way he pleasured himself. He, like you’d felt it earlier, was hard and desperate to have you, precum beading at his reddened tip. His eyes, on your entrance, shut closed as he groaned at the sight of you clenching at the sight of him. Your legs tightened again, pulling him closer, and he chuckled hoarsely, leaning over you fully, his body keeping you in place.

“Impatience is not a feeling princesses should make known, darling.” He chastised teasingly.

“Just fuck me, Loki…” You groaned, your eyes locked on his cock so close to your entrance, while his eyes were solely on your warmed face.

“Impertinent, too.” He mused, leaning down to mouth hungrily at your cheek as he finally entered you.

You both moaned at the feeling, one of your hands coming up to hold onto one of his broad shoulders.

"When did you become so impatient, hm?" He mumbled against your cheek, not moving just yet. 

"Perhaps when you chose to tease me so incessantly." You rebuffed breathlessly. 

He chuckled darkly. 

"Incessantly? That was not incessant, dearest. I will show you what that is like some day, if you remain this deliciously daring with me." 

"Now," He leaned back after pressing a hot kiss to your mouth, his tongue briefly meeting yours. He sat back on his heels, his hands grabbing ahold of your legs and letting the backs of your knees rest in the crooks of his elbows. "We shall both get what we want, hm?" He murmured, watching you as he began to thrust. It was teasing, and annoyingly slow, but he held you still, smirk on his face. 

You huffed unhappily, shuffling around slightly, to which Loki replied with a smirk. 

"What is it, darling? I'm fucking you, no?" He cooed.

"Stop it, please... husband." You pleaded, reaching for his hand. He seemed to melt at that, letting go of the leg he'd been holding and lacing your fingers together as he leaned back down closer to you. 

"I'm sorry, darling. I couldn't help but want to hear you beg, just a little." He whispered, kissing you slowly. He began to move properly, then. 

You gasped, and his hand squeezed yours, Loki's eyes fixed on you and your expressions. He moved his other hand down between your bodies, to your clitoris. His first touch there had you mewling out his name, squeezing his hand, too. 

"Does that feel good, my darling?" He panted, which was followed by a wanton groan as you squeezed around him. 

"More..." You pleaded, pulling on his hand and bringing him down for a kiss which quickly turned hungry.

“Do you want my seed?” He gasped against your lips.

You nodded, kissing him again. Every time always led to this this. It started off teasing enough, but by this point, you both always got more serious, more intense. It all became more intimate, and it nearly felt like making love.

“Beg for it.” He pleaded, and you shook your head, grinning as another moan slipped out of your mouth.

He chuckled hungrily and the movement of his thumb at your clitoris picked up speed, making you pause and tilt your head up.

“Loki…” You began, his name sounding incredibly salacious from your mouth.

He nodded, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yes, darling…” He encouraged softly, his thrusts growing erratic.

“Loki…” You moaned again, higher in pitch this time.

“I know, dearest… I know…” He mumbled, kissing your brow.

“Loki…!” You gasped, your back arching and your chest pressing up against his. His hand squeezed yours tightly, and he was moaning now, too, feeling you squeezing around him.

As you caught your breath, you kept him close, wrapping your legs around him again. He was almost completely laying over you now, just barely holding himself up with his free hand now that he’d helped you reach your peak with it.

“Please come…” You whispered softly against his cheekbone, knowing your whispers would only bring him closer.

The moan he let out in response was nearly pained, his eyes wild as they met yours. Almost as if he was still seeking permission. You nodded and cupped his face with your free hand.

“I want you to come inside of me, my love.” You murmured in the warmth of his bedchambers, and you knew you’d done it. It almost seemed like the pet name sent him over the edge. He moaned and his thrusts briefly went on before stopping, deep inside of you. The sounds he proceeded to let out only made you squeeze around him again, which only made him let out more. He nearly crushed you, his forehead against your shoulder.

“Norns, I love you…” He said in a daze, and the world went still.

You both seemed to freeze at the same time, and although you remained frozen, he seemed to find it best to move on and act like nothing had happened, because after a minute or so of silence (maybe of him hoping the words had been too quiet), he simply brought your joined hands to his lips and kissed at your hand. Something he always did.

“Loki…” You began, watching him. For once, he wasn’t looking at you. You could feel your heart stuttering, beating so very fast and hard against your ribcage. Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to hear him say those words again and again. Against every inch of your body. You did not wish to have him feeling shame for something that had made you feel so wonderful. Something that you’d been experiencing for yourself, yet also hiding from, too.

“My love…” You said this time, trying again.

He looked up, surprised. His cheeks were pink, likely both from the exertion, but also from the confession.

You offered him a small smile, testing the waters.

“I heard you.” You confessed, and he seemed to recoil within himself. He was quick to pull himself out of you and to stand, reaching for his robe.

“Where are you going?” You asked, watching him as he came over (with the robe around him now) and helped you under the furs on his bed, making sure you were warm. Even now.

“I must go.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Lest I make a bigger fool of myself.”

“These are your chambers, husband. Stay. Please. You’ve not made yourself a fool.”

“Haven’t I? I’ve just… I’ve just spoken the words of a weak man.”

“To love is not to be weak. And you did not even hear my response.” You insisted, reaching out to grab a hold of his forearm before he could pull away. “Stay. Come to bed.”

“Why?” He asked weakly, swallowing.

“Because this is your bed.” You pointed out with a small smile. “But also, because I want you here. To fall asleep next to you, in each other’s arms.”

“Why would you want that?” His voice was small, inquisitive.

“I know you to be cleverer than this, my love.” You murmured, sitting up so you could kiss his own knuckles.

“Say it, then. So I am sure.” He pleaded, watching you as if in a trance.

“Because I love you, too.” You said earnestly, placing another kiss to his knuckles.

Slowly, very slowly, Loki seemed to take your words in. Then, he blinked, and slowly untied his robe and got back into bed, as if scared he’d spook you. You happily cuddled up into his side, tangling your legs with his as you both sat up against the headboard.

“I’ve never known you to be this quiet.” You murmured after a while, your hand resting on his chest. His own was around your shoulders, holding you to him.

“I… find myself in unexpected territory.” He confessed, and when you looked up to see his face, you found him already looking at you.

“Unexpected? But you’re so handsome.” An attempt at a soft-hearted tease. At least it finally got a smirk out of him.

“You always manage to surprise me, it seems. I’ve met my match.”

You hummed, both of you meeting halfway for a kiss.

“It was high time for you to get humbled, I think.”

“Mm. We shall speak on this more tomorrow.” He decreed. “I’m too tired for something so important now.” He looked to you to see if you were in agreement, his eyes incredibly soft.

You nodded, and he gave you a kiss to the head in reply.

“It’s a shame, though. That you’re too tired.” You said, turning over briefly to blow out the candle on the nightstand on your side of the bed. He raised in brow in reply. “We usually do not stop after only one attempt.”

He pulled you close again, kissing your temple and then tilting your head so as to kiss your jaw.

“Oh, I’ve no idea. It was madness! Apricot, prune, raspberries… the wine makers have gone mad! I lost count at 10.”

“Bottles?” He asked, grinning.

“Nooo,” She admonished, looking at him as if it was obvious. “Kinds of wine!”

“You are drunk, pet.”

“Drunk? Princesses do not get drunk. I was told that in my lessons.”

“Well, I rather think they meant it as a rule of thumb, not as an impossibility. Either that, or you’ve just made the impossible possible.”

She preened at his words.

“Well, I do tend to do that.”

“… Why do you have a bottle with you, my love?”

She looked to him, and then down to her hands, confused and then surprised, to find a wine bottle there.

“Oh. I suppose I stole it?”

“Stole it?” He repeated, surprised.

“Stole it… yes! I stole it. I believe it was implied that we should not… but breaking the rules is fun. Someone told me that once.” She mused, cackling at herself once she focused in on the bottle again.

“Yes, I wonder who that was…” Loki said, pulling her into his chest again and caressing the back of her head gently, prying the wine bottle from her hand and setting it aside.

“You look so handsome, my love… I find myself desiring most desperately to climb you.” She purred, reaching for his face and pulling him down for a messy kiss.

“Climb me?” He mused, looking at her with fondness. “You are not at all your usual self, my darling.”

“I am more myself than ever before! More daring than ever. We should make love in the hallways.”

“With the Einherjar there, love?” He tilted his head in amusement.

She waved her hand.

“Who cares? They will not say! Moreover, you always say I have wonderful breasts. Let us spread the joy of them.” She declared boldly, looking at him as she squeezed her breasts once.

Loki had never been more amused in his life, and he’d been at the center of hundreds of ridiculously improbable situations.

“We will not be doing that, darling, no.” He denied her gently, reaching for her hands and kissing her knuckles one by one.

“Fine…” She giggled. “Can I see you naked, then?” She laughed some more, eyes sparkling.

“Naked?” He raised a brow, amused. “Why?”

“I like your legs… and your cock. And your ass.” She giggled, placing a hand over her mouth.

Loki snorted, pulling her into his arms again.

“Let us get you into bed, my troublemaking hellion.” He said fondly.

“Bed is boring.” She insisted, her hands (around him) moving south and palming at his behind, even managing to squeeze it.

“Darling.” He reproached her softly, smirk evident in his voice.

“Were all of you in such a state by the end?” He asked, beginning to pull her towards their bedchambers.

“Some of the ladies were laughing quite a bit as well, and were all flushed… Your mother seemed fine, though.” She recalled languidly, now busying herself with trying to get her hands into his trousers.

“Unsurprising.” Loki answered, unperturbed (if not enticed and charmed) by her hands.

“Will I get to climb you now?” She asked excitedly, seeing their bed come into her near vicinity.

“You will get to climb into bed, yes.”

“Boring.” She said, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. “We should do something interesting. Like play a trick on Thor! You could…” She shook her head around, perhaps to signify his magic. “And we could make Thor’s things entirely too large and make him think he has become miniscule!”

“My darling, I am constantly surprised by how much I love you.” Loki said, brushing some of her hair back. “And that, is a genius idea. I shall store it away for a rainy day.”

“You should store me away…” She purred, stumbling slightly on nothing and then bursting into laughter.

“That makes no sense, my love.” He chuckled along with her, hands moving to begin undoing her gown’s laces. Immediately, she raised a brow, winking at him. But he shook his head gently, smiling. “Not tonight, my heart.”

She huffed, pressing her nose against his chest and inhaling deeply.

“But you smell so nice!”

“I will smell the same in the morning, I promise.” He replied calmly, helping her out of her gown.

“Will you at least sleep naked?” She said, batting her lashes and trying (and failing) to hide a devious grin at her own idea.

“Will that make you get into bed?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Fine. But nothing will happen, understand, my love?”

She eventually begrudgingly agreed, and Loki managed to get her ready for bed and curled up into his side. She was half-asleep and tracing shapes into his chest when she spoke. He was almost certain she wasn’t aware that she was doing it.

“I stole the bottle because… I thought you’d like the taste.” His heart warmed at her words.

In truth, it had warmed from the moment she’d walked through the doors, stumbling and laughing like a gorgeous fool.

“Is that so, my love? My little devious romantic.” He kissed her head. “What flavour did you get me?”

“Mm… can’t remember. Go read it.” She urged, lifting her hand off his chest to wave it lazily in the general direction of their sitting room before it fell back onto his chest with a thump.

He kissed her head with another soft laugh, pulling her in closer to his side. She was safe, she was happy, and she’d included him in something he’d excluded himself from. What more could he ever want from this perfect woman?

She surprised him when she suddenly spoke again when he’d thought she was long gone into the land of dreams.

“I will climb you tomorrow.” She threatened weakly.

He gestured sharply, fingers slicing through the air, cloak swaying with every turn. The firelight threw gold along his cheekbones, catching in the dark sweep of his hair as it loosened from its careful styling.

His mouth moved, expressive, shaping every complaint with almost theatrical precision.

You had meant to pay attention.

Really.

But somewhere between ‘the council of idiots’ and ‘Hogun’s insufferable smirk,’ your focus had slipped. Your book had fallen half–closed, spine heavy against your thigh. Your cheek had found your palm, elbow braced on the arm of the chair as you watched him move.

He was very handsome when he was frustrated.

That was the problem.

“-and then,” Loki continued, oblivious to your wandering thoughts, “he had the audacity, the sheer, staggering gall, to imply that my strategy was ‘overly complicated.’” His voice lifted on the last words, mocking Thor’s tone, eyes flashing. “As though subtlety is some kind of defect and not a concept his brain simply cannot grasp.”

He turned again.

You tracked him like you were following a constellation.

The way his brows pinched when he was truly irritated. The little line that formed between them when he replayed something on the edge of outrage. The curve of his mouth as he sneered, as he scoffed.

“…if he would listen for once in his life, we might have finished the entire affair in half the time, with far fewer bruises, and I-are you even hearing a word I am saying?”

You blinked, straightening up in the chair,

“Of course,” you said automatically.

He stopped pacing.

One long, elegant finger lifted in a classic Loki gesture of accusation. “You are not,” he said. “You have that look.”

“What look?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, though your lips twitched. You’d probably let a smile creep onto your face.

“The one where you pretend you are listening but are actually… drifting.” He flicked his hand vaguely near his temple. “You’re off somewhere in that head of yours.”

You fought the smile from spreading “Maybe I just like hearing you talk.”

He scoffed, but colour touched the tops of his cheekbones. “Flattery, darling, while appreciated, does not excuse the fact that my brother is an imbecile and no one seems to acknowledge the depth of my suffering.”

He dropped into the armchair opposite you with all the dramatic weight of a king displaced from his throne. The leather creaked under him. Limbs sprawled, long legs stretching out, boots planted wide. He looked very put–upon. Very indignant.

Very, very kissable.

He raked a hand through his hair, sending the already-mussed strands into further disarray, and you felt something in your chest tighten.

“All I ask,” he went on, “is that for once, just once, someone say ‘Loki, that was brilliant, we should have listened to you from the beginning,’ but no- oh no, clearly I am destined to be surrounded by-”

You set your book aside.

He didn’t notice at first. He was still talking, hands moving, voice rising and falling in familiar cadences as he dissected every slight, every misstep, every moment that had offended his pride. Some quip from Frandal  some rolled eye from Sif. It all flowed from him in a stream of sharp words and restless energy.

You stood.

He noticed that.

His gaze tracked you as you crossed the space between your chair and his, the firelight warming your skin, casting your shadow long across the floor. His tirade did not falter, but his eyes followed the sway of your steps with growing suspicion.

“…and if Volstagg insists on-darling, what are you doing?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you climbed into his lap.

You did it without hesitation, with the easy familiarity of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Your knee brushed the outside of his thigh, then the other, until you were straddling him, skirts carefully arranged, your weight settling over him with deliberate softness.

Loki’s rant stuttered.

His hands came up automatically, one bracing at your waist, the other hovering uselessly in the air between you as though he couldn’t quite decide whether to steady you or continue gesturing.

“Ah,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I see we have abandoned the chair.”

“You can stop talking now,” you murmured.

You cupped his face in both hands, thumbs brushing the high arc of his cheekbones, leaning forward and kissed him.

Whatever he’d been about to say vanished against your mouth.

For a heartbeat he went utterly still, surprise flickering through him. Then his lips parted under yours, the tension melting as easily as snow under sunlight. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer with a soft, possessive sound.

Even caught off guard, he recovered quickly. His mouth moved against yours with growing hunger, matching your pace, answering the press of your lips with a slow, seeking slide of his own. You felt the faint rasp of his breath on your cheek, the cool brush of his nose against yours.

But he tried to speak.

Of course he did.

“You realise,” he managed between kisses, words ghosting over your lips, “this does not address the utter-”

You pulled back just enough to see his mouth moving, his brows still faintly drawn as if the complaint was physically unable to stay contained.

“Shh,” You tapped a finger lightly against his lower lip. “Kissing now.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh?” he murmured, the feel of his lips still moving against the skin pressed to his mouth “Is that an official decree?”

“Yes,” You nodded kissed him harder before he could argue.

He made a low sound in his throat at that, something pleased and faintly undone. His hand fisted in the back of your dress, the other sliding up along your spine, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades. You felt him shift beneath you, thighs tensing, body instinctively angling to meet the new pressure of your weight.

The world outside the circle of his arms fell away.

All that remained was the heat of his mouth, the velvet press of his lips, the way he followed every retreat with a gentle, insistent chase. You tilted your head and he hummed in approval, the tip of his tongue brushing against yours in a slow, teasing stroke that sent a shiver down your spine.

He tried again, stubborn even now.

“You know Thor will only-”

You growled a little, cut him off with another kiss, stealing the words from his tongue.

“Loki,” you said softly against his mouth, your breath mingling, “don’t speak. Just kiss me.”

His eyes met yours at that; full of something that had nothing to do with Thor or any of the thousands of petty grievances he could catalogue.

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he whispered.

“You like me that way,” you replied.

He huffed a quiet, helpless laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your palms.

“Tragically,” he purred a little “Yes.”

You smiled against his lips, then dragged your fingers through his hair, enjoying the way it slipped like silk between them, the way his eyelids fluttered at the sensation. With a small shift of your hips, you settled more securely in his lap, your knees tightening at his sides.

Loki’s breath caught.

His hands, previously content at your back and waist, splayed wider, thumbs stroking slow circles just above the curve of your hips as though he couldn’t help himself.

“See?” you murmured. “Better than a rant.”

He arched a brow, though his gaze had already dropped to your mouth again. “You are proposing yourself as a distraction, then?”

You brushed your lips across his in a feather–light kiss that barely counted as contact. “I’m proposing,” you continued, “that we find better things to occupy your mind.”

One dark eyebrow climbed higher. “Plural.”

“If you stop talking,” you added.

He made a theatrical show of sighing, though his hands tightened on you like he had no intention of letting go. “Very well. For the good of the realm, I shall suffer in silence.”

You laughed, the sound muffled as he caught your mouth again, apparently now fully committed to the new cause.

This kiss was slower.

Deeper.

His lips softened, moulding to yours with an intimacy that had nothing to do with frustration and everything to do with how many times he’d kissed you before. His fingers traced idle lines up your spine, over your ribs, memorising you all over again. Your own hands roamed from his jaw to the column of his throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse as you mouthed at the corner of his lips, the edge of his smile.

He tasted faintly of wine and mischief and something uniquely, unmistakably him.

You felt him relax under you, inch by inch, armour peeling away with every pass of your mouth against his. The sharp line of his shoulders loosened. The tension between his brows smoothed. The restless need to move, to gesture, to dissect every slight faded, replaced by a different kind of energy entirely.

“See?” you whispered, when you finally drew back just far enough to look at him properly.

Loki’s pupils were blown wide, cheeks faintly flushed, lips kiss–swollen and faintly damp. He stared up at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

“I rest my case,” This was better.

His fingers tightened at your hips, a slow, wicked smile curving his mouth.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, voice a low purr now, all the earlier sharpness melted into something warm and dangerous, “I think I’ve only just begun to present mine.”

“Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“Certainly. A most lovely evening organized by the All-Mother.”

“Truly? Interesting. I thought enjoyment came of shared company. And yet, I do not see you sharing your time with another.”

“My company was unbothered until quite recently, your grace.” You shot him a glare out of the side of your eye, his lips curling at the feeling it stirred in him. “It seems my luck has ended, however.”

“Luck and mischief do not meld well, my lady. Not from the view of the loser, that is.” Loki hummed lowly, and you felt yourself grow lighter when his eyes left you (although briefly) to look over the other guests in attendance.

“Are you bored?” He asked you now, quieter than before, angled towards you subtly.

“What business is it to you?”

Loki chuckled softly. He was close enough to you, and there was no one behind you, so that he could safely move the arm closest to you from behind his back and subtly touch your lower back with his hand.

“I was raised to have my guests’ needs above my own at all times, my lady. So, indulge your prince, are you bored?”

“I highly doubt that you could somehow heighten my amusement tonight, my prince.”

“You slander myself and my talents, my lady. I ought to be offended. Perhaps even throw you down in the dungeons.”

“The same ones you were in previously?” You whispered, turning your head to look at him, a raise to your brow.

“Impudent.” He hissed, pinching your side.

“Why? You have told me in great detail about your enjoyment of restraints.” You were certainly pushing the limits of propriety now, but you felt you could not stop. If anyone heard you, eyebrows would be raised (and remain thus) for the next few days.

“I have told you nothing of the sort.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, his lies getting the better of you once again. “Is it your cock that whispered that confession to me, then?”

Loki turned his face towards yours, glowering down at you.

“Just who do you think you are?”

“One of your guests. Which,” You cocked your head to the side. “means I am owed your services, apparently.”

“If I am partial to offering them.”

“You seemed partial enough moments ago.”

“Yes, before you dared to speak to your prince in such a way.” He hissed, his lip curled in displeasure (though you could see want there too).

You looked into his eyes, saw the darkness in them that had been there from the moment you’d joined the rest of guests this evening and had only gotten more potent as the night had gone on. Your eyes betrayed you by slipping down to his mouth, and his tongue seemed to feel the heat of your gaze there, because it slipped out of his mouth to lick at his lips.

“A prince this eager to offer his services to his guests.” You clicked your tongue, eyes meeting his once more. “You must truly be desperate to prove your worth.”

You knew you’d just signed your own fate with that, what with the surprised spark of fury lighting up his eyes.

That was surely at least part of the reason why you found yourself in his arms in a moderately secluded alcove a mere few minutes later, his teeth biting at your neck.

“The mouth on you…” He grunted, biting onto what felt like the last bit of untouched skin on your neck.

You stayed quiet, both to try and remain your presence a secret for any possible passerby and to rile him up further.

“You are quiet now? How fascinating. Always when I want you loudest.” Your eyes closed, it is your body that feels his hand trailing up from around your middle to cup one of your breasts.

“He seemed quite close to you tonight.” The words caught your attention, though you’d missed the beginning. You hummed softly; your mind clearly muddled from his attention. It irritated you just as much as it elated him.

“Your suitor.” He repeated against your ear.

“I don’t have a suitor.” You whispered breathily, moaning lightly when Loki’s lips fastened around the spot he’d previously bitten.

“No?” Your skin pulled free from his lips. “Does he know that?”

“Who are you talking about?” You huffed, letting out a second breath as Loki pulled you flush to his chest.

“That blonde imbecile, that lordling who has been hoarding you for the past week.” The title was a snarl out of Loki’s mouth.

“Hoarding me?” You scoffed.

Loki’s hand, the one at your breast, squeezed once, causing you to let out a languid sigh.

“I have thought of these breasts all day.” He whispered, the words filthy from his mouth.

“A waste of a princely mind, then. If all you think about is a lady’s bosom.”

“The finest bosom in all the Nine.” He had not even the patience to argue with you this time. His teeth caught your earlobe, and it was only then that you seemed to notice the way his cock was practically rutting into you from behind. You had made him desperate, after all. The knowledge thrilled you.

“To think that he lusts after them, too.” Loki began his spiting anew, one of his thighs sliding between your own.

“I still do not… know who you speak of.” You gasped, his other hand urging you back onto his thigh, so perfectly firm and toned, almost as if for your pleasure alone.

“That useless frog who looks at you as if he spends his every waking moment imagining your name alongside his.”

Right as your mind began to conjure up an image of the man you believed Loki was talking about, his thigh pressed ever so precisely against the apex of your thighs and a shudder of elation ran through you.

“I am not interested in having his name attached to mine.” You panted, reaching a hand back to palm at Loki’s behind, encouraging his thrusts against you and the pace you felt he ought to maintain.

“Good.” Loki was panting, too, mouthing at your jaw hotly. “It would ruin the beauty of yours.”

You let out a keening moan when you felt the recognizable shape of his fingers against your clitoris, something you knew to be technically impossible, what with both his hands currently occupied with holding either one of your breasts or your middle to his.

“Finally,” He growled, happy. “A proper sound out of you, darling. You filthy girl. You were wanting my hands on you, after all. Such a pitiful liar, avoiding my eyes all while soaking your undergarments at the thought of me near you.”

You rocked against him, the feeling of his fingers combined with his thigh against you bringing you ever closer to your crest.

“He could never make you feel like this.” He hissed. “He is a pitiful man. Not even with magic such as mine could he leave you aching thus.” Another lingering kiss to your neck. “How many times shall I make you come, hm? And in an alcove, no less. Desperate enough for me to let yourself be pleasured by me in public.” He clicked his tongue.

“Not public…” You insisted breathily, eyes struggling to open, looking towards the way you’d came, no one coming your way.

“No? Listen closer, pet.” Loki cooed, taunting you.

You did as he asked, though it was incredibly difficult, your mind mostly focused on what he was making you experience between your legs. It took you longer than you would like to admit, but you eventually picked up on the sound of voices that felt like they were coming towards the very alcove you were both hidden away in.

“Oh, did you notice?” He cooed again, all mean and smug. “Do you recognize his voice? He shall certainly recognize yours.”

Ice cold clarity slid down your back and your top teeth seemed to bite into your bottom lip of their own volition, all while you pressed yourself further into Loki’s embrace. He chuckled.

“Deny it all you wish, darling, but I know the thought of it thrills you. Having him hear us, having him hear you while you cum. Perhaps you will even be good enough to let out a sweet cry of my name for him.” His words were a mere whisper against your throat, not having once stopped the movements that were only bringing you closer to madness.

You shook your head in reply, your eyes rolling back in your head as his fingers (the magic ones he’d made appear beneath your skirts) sped up their movements against your clitoris.

“No? You feel capable of remaining quiet even while I do this to you? Shall I get on my knees for you and feast on your cunt? I think we both know how loud you get when I do that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You tried your best attempt at a hiss.

“Wouldn’t I? I thought we’d gotten close enough for you to know me well enough by now, pet. To know me and my limits.” He purred.

“You are…” You mewled, arching against him slightly as you, despite your wishes, began to reach the very height of your pleasure. “Obsessed.”

“Obsessed? With what? I dare you to tell me, without interruption.”

Oh, you hated it when he acted clueless like this. When he played with you right as you lost your composure, even if for a few brief moments.

“It is not…” You gasped sharply, your hand gripping onto his bicep. “You’ve no right to be brought to anger due to my suitors.”

“So you admit that he is your suitor?” He whispered darkly, and you noticed with a jolt of fear that the voices you’d heard moments ago were growing louder. “It is only right that I eliminate the weakest links for you. The ones that do not even deserve a second thought from you.”

“Why-” You moaned, the sound catching you off-guard more than it had Loki. You were well and truly holding onto your sanity for dear life now, trying to hold the tide of pleasure back. “Why you?”

“Why? Because I am your prince, and I choose how to occupy myself.” He squeezed your breast again. “Now cum for me, and let that pest hear just how much of a chance he has with you.” He growled, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, bringing you deep onto the meat of his thigh.

You finally, unable to resist any longer to all that Loki had put you through, came against him, a long shiver going through your entire body as you let out a cry of his name that Loki would have surely described as ‘simply enchanting’. You fell back against him, the back of your head hitting his shoulder, and you thought you felt him press a kiss to your temple.

“Perfectly done, darling.” He praised, now sounding completely calm and composed (though his cock was still achingly hard against you). “That ingrate will certainly become disenchanted with the notion of you being his after this.”

“I still…” You finally felt like you’d caught your breath, though you let him continue to hold you up. “I still do not understand why you are so ridiculously preoccupied with something so futile.”

“Futile?” He clicked his tongue, the entire hallway now deathly quiet. “There can only ever be the very best for you. That is something I have sworn to uphold. He did not even deserve a moment of your precious time.”

“And I assume you find yourself to be the very best?” You raised a brow.

🐍

I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…

His voice rings in your head like a canary. You barely spoke a word to him on the way back to the penthouse. You’re in complete shock after seeing that video too. He has it all figured out and nothing was in his way. He had centuries to figure this all out, the fact that you’d even question him seems ridiculous. You’re way over your head and have no possible way to make this better.

You stay silent as you go up the elevator with him. Once you step foot back into the living room, you feel his hand grab your wrist and stop you in your tracks. You look up at him, eyes dark and alluring. He pulls you to his chest and gives you a long, passionate kiss. It feels so intoxicating, you’re practically lightheaded after. You sigh against him and relish the feeling of his lips on yours. You reach up on your toes to touch his face and you can feel a smile form on his face.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You struggle to catch your breath in between kisses and look at him uneasily.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say sheepishly.

“You didn’t leave me, that’s more than I could have ever asked for,” he quips, leaning in for another kiss.

“Now what?” You ask nervously.

He looks a little baffled by the question and caresses your face gently.

“Now I do what I was born to do. Be a king,” he says plainly.

You don’t respond to him. You try to shove down the horrible anxiety flooding your mind when you think of what he might do to gain that official role. To be king of earth… billions of people all under one commander. 

You nod your head and peel yourself away from his grasp. He doesn’t rush to you, he lets you have your space. You take a seat on the couch and try to keep yourself calm. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks softly.

You shake your head and give him a little smile, trying to hide how scared you are with this all.

“I need to take care of some other things, I’ll be back a little later,” he tells you.

He turns to leave, his scepter still in his hand and you watch the elevator doors close.

Being finally alone makes you feel the whole weight of the world on your shoulders. You hear Brenden’s words try to suffocate you and weigh on your chest. God what have you done? He was right, you created a monster. Loki is not going to stop until he gets what he wants. Whether you wanted to accept it or not, you are an accomplice in all of this.

You feel your phone buzz in your back pocket and it doesn’t stop. A mess of news notifications pop up on your screen as well as a million missed calls from Skylar. Shit, she’s probably freaking out about all of this. You haven’t talked to her in days and that isn’t like you. You have to tell her so she knows you're alive but you can’t go into much detail. Mainly for her own safety. All of this was going to get messy and you’re hoping that it wouldn’t cost you a friend in the midst of it all.

You unlock your phone and scan through the hundred unread text messages from her. She’s in full-blown panic mode and is ready to call the cops to look for you. You gather yourself together and call her back, trying to stay as calm as possible. It rings once and she picks up.

“Y/N?!” She says frantically.

You clear your throat, “Hi Sky,” you say softly.

“Oh my God y/n! Oh my God, you’re okay! Where the hell have you been?! I’ve been worried sick! You haven’t answered a single one of my calls or texts!” She says exasperated.

“I know, I’m sorry-,” You begin to say but she cuts you off.

“Sorry? That’s all I get? You’ve had me worried sick for these last few days after disappearing to him,” she says scathingly, unable to even utter his name. 

“Are you still with him?” She asks disgusted.

“Yes,” you say softly, “I’m safe though, please don’t worry too much.”

“What, are you serious? You’re with him?! Did you see that message that everyone got? Please, you need to stay with me from now on,” she tells you.

“Sky, I need you to listen to me okay? I’m okay, I swear. I’m not in any danger, he won’t hurt me,” you assure her. You’re probably the only human on this earth that he won’t endanger and that thought alone sends a shiver right down your spine.

“No y/n… do you hear how insane that sounds? You can’t trust him,” he says firmly.

“But I do and there’s nothing that can change that Sky. Please just know I’m fine and I’m taken care of. I’ll call you if I need anything but I’m staying here.”

A long silence stems from the other line and you’re not sure if she’s hung up.

“Sky? Are you still there…” More silence fills the receiver. “I’m sorry… I had no control over this happening,” you whisper.

“You always have a choice,” she says gently.

You’ve spoken the same words to Loki but as time has gone by, you have doubts that it’s even true.

“Bye Skylar.”

You hang up the phone, tears rolling down your cheeks, knowing you might have just pushed away your best friend and chosen a god over her.

*

It’s well past midnight and Loki isn’t back yet. You tried not to freak out about it but you really wanted to know what he was doing. You powered down your phone and threw it in a drawer. You didn’t want to see another article or anything else that was happening in the world. You hope Loki is honest enough that he’ll tell you the truth about what he’s doing out there. It’s hard to distract yourself when you know the world below you is changing before you and you had a hand in it. 

You clear your mind and take a long shower, letting the hot water numb you from it all. You wrap a towel around you before sifting through the drawers to find something to wear tonight. Something white catches your eye. You pick it up by its straps and reveal to yourself the sheer, lacy babydoll that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

Dear god did he buy this for you!? Was he just waiting for you to stumble upon this? Your cheeks blush at just the thought of him waiting to see you in this and the awful things he’d do to you in it. 

You hear footsteps in the hallway and you freeze, your heart rattling by in your chest. The footsteps stop short of the bedroom door and you stay in the closet. Maybe he won’t know you’re in here. 

“Are you hiding from me my pretty one,” he bellows, his voice slightly amused 

You tense at the sound of his voice, not wanting to make him wait for you a second longer. 

You slowly peek out of the closet, your hands clutching your chest to keep your towel on. 

“No… I was just getting something to change into,” you say softly. 

You take a look at him and he looks as though he’s been going through a battle. He looks a bit disheveled and beads of sweat cling to his temples. His eyes look fiery and dangerous as usual but there’s something different about them. He looks a bit worn out and you've never really seen him like that unless he was using his powers. 

A pit in your stomach appears, not liking what this means.

“Where have you been?” You asks concerned. 

“Just out… picking a new place for us to live,” he says wryly. 

“Oh, where will we go?” You ask nervously. 

“The tallest building in the city. For you my darling, only the best,” he smiles. 

You try to keep calm the best you can. 

“And how did you get that?”

“Well, they fully accepted me as their king. Said I may have anything I please,” he says slyly. 

Oh god, so it begins… his reign. 

“King…” you mumble under breath, half terrified. 

“And what do we have here?” He asks, taking a step forward.

You still have the lingerie in your hand, crumpled up against your chest. He distracts you and blush at the way he’s looking at you. The fact you still had it in your hand makes you so embarrassed. 

“Did you want me in this?” You ask sheepishly. 

He bites his lip, intrigued by the proposal. 

“I would love that… to have wearing that while I slowly ravish you… that sound you love to make for me… I think this would be the perfect outfit while we’re in our new home.” He grins.

“Oh I see,” you mumble, your mind racing at  what at he might do to you. “When can I see this new place?”

He slides his hand to the back of your neck and kisses you slowly. You stifle a sigh and nearly shake in his presence. 

“Get a some clothes on and I’ll show you. It's ready for you,” he tells you. 

*

You wrap your arms around yourself as you both get in the elevator and ride to the top where the new penthouse is. Your jaw nearly drops when you see how big this place is. It had a completely open layout, a decorative bar, Loki’s daggers on the table, black marble floors that are so shiny you can practically see your reflection in them. 

You go to the window and see the glimmering lights of the city. Another breathtaking view of your favorite place on earth. Sirens wailed in the distance and echoed against the tall buildings. You feel his hands wrap around your body like ivy, covering every inch of you in him. He places a tender kiss on your neck and breathes in your scent. Your body lights up and you shiver at his closeness. 

He takes his hands off of you momentarily, then peels off your long coat. He makes this disgruntled sound behind you when he sees what you’re wearing. You slipped on that lacy babydoll and hoped it would keep him distracted from going out there and causing more trouble. His hands go back to your hips and twists your body around to face him. 

He still looks tired, drained almost, like he hasn’t slept in days. His eyes still contained that wild look that could make your heart stop. They’re just way too blue and not normal. You can’t form any words and have to wait for what he says. The way he looks at you is like he’s hungry… starving for your attention again like the very first night he saw you. 

His hands cup your breasts in his hands and plays with your nipples through the thin material. You breathe in sharply and feel the longing feelings bloom inside you. 

“You are a tease, you know that hmm?” He grumbles, kissing your neck again. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

“I know, you’re my Achilles heel too,” you breathe, going in for a kiss.

You place your hands on his face and get startled at how he feels. His skin feels cool to the touch and beads of sweat drip down from his hairline. 

“Are you feeling okay?” You say worried. 

He winces a bit at your touch and nods his head, “yes, I’ve never been better. I just missed you,” he says shakily. 

You’re not convinced and know he’s lying. 

“I missed you, but you aren’t the same. You feel sick or something.”

“I’m fine I promise. I just need you close to me.”

“What do you need from me then?” You ask. 

He takes your hand and starts to lead you to another room. This place had high ceiling and dozens of doors that you assumed lead to different bedrooms. But Loki leads you to the very last room and through double doors, a giant suite. 

Inside stood a black throne with three steps leading to it. On the opposite wall, a huge bed made for a king with a draping canopy over the bed. Four posts erected from the bed’s frame and silky black sheets fit perfectly over the mattress. Your head feels dizzy being in here and with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, you wanted to collapse. 

He walks slowly to the throne, setting his scepter down on the side of him. He sits down, spreading his legs and kicking one leg out straight. Damn he looks so inviting like that. A perfect seat for you. 

“Come to me,” he commands. 

You feel like his power is taking over you. But you know it’s just he’s irresistible charisma that you will gladly kneel to. You take one step to him and wait, knowing he already has a plan.

“Come here, sit down,” he directs you, patting his thigh.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from making a sound. You nod your head instead, taking a few more steps toward him and your eyes feasting on how good he looks. Those long legs made you weak and the way he sits there… like a powerful king born for this.

You sit down and wrap your arm around his neck, looking into those dangerous, stormy blue eyes. He takes you all in like this, his hand sliding up your calf, pulling your hair off your shoulders and licking his lips when his eyes get back up to your lips.

“So pretty for me. Tell me, do you like it here?” He asks.

“Yes, it’s wonderful. Thank you,” you say shyly. You don’t know what else to say in this situation. His reign is starting and he was going to get anything he wanted. 

“Good I’m glad, this is where we will stay for a little while,” he smiles, his hand slipping to your face and holding you by the back of your neck. The slightest touch makes you shudder but now, it’s more than ever. He’s more powerful than he’s ever been. It’s like you can feel him shake slightly when he touches you, unable to get a full grasp on his new power.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask quietly, caressing his face in your hand. 

“Yes, I just want you… It’s so overwhelming…” he breathes.

Your eyebrows furrow and see he’s not his normal self. He won’t tell you what’s really going on even if you beg. You nervously search on his face for any sign but he’s shrouded in secrecy. 

You don’t want to see him like this anymore and you lean in, placing a fiery kiss on his lips. He isn’t expecting such ferocity from you but you feel him welcome it wholeheartedly. He wraps his hands around you tighter, kissing you feverishly and barely giving you a chance to breathe. You moan against him, his hands making you feel on fire and your body beginning to ache with need. 

His hand slithers up your thigh and teases there, his fingers rubbing circles inches away from your core. You squirm in his lap, dying for any friction he can give you but he loves to make you wait. You slip your tongue in his mouth, moaning for him to keep going but he finds it more amusing to see you whimper for him.

“What is it my darling?” He teases, kissing your nose.

“Please touch me,” you whimper.

“I am, you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” he taunts. 

“You’re mean,” you grumble.

He chuckles amused by your frustration and swipes his fingers through your wet core. You gasp and the satisfaction from that one touch alone makes you feel unhinged. Your hips hungrily grind at his fingers, wanting anything else he can give you. His mouth opens when he feels how wet you’ve become, rubbing your sensitive bud in circles nearly driving you mad.

“I’m not mean darling… I just don’t know if you really want me the way I want you,” he says slyly.

You nod your head, feeling completely intoxicated by his very presence. His voice sends chills right through you and makes you unable to think straight.

“I do, I only want you. I’d-…” You stop momentarily when the words slip in the forefront your mind. It’s so easy to say and you have no shame in it at all, "I’d worship you,” you say needily.

His eyes flare with lust and “Show me,” he mumbles. He makes you stand up and runs his hands on your inner thigh, continuing to tease your core with his two fingers. Your mouth opens the moment he give you more. You don’t understand how you can be so starved for him after being apart for a short amount of time.

You bend your leg and rest it on the top of his thigh, giving him more access to your throbbing core. His eyes continue to look at you like you’re the most ravishing creature on this planet. His fingers curve inside you and with each thrust, make you feel overwhelmed by the second. He’s going to make you fall apart before you have the chance to touch him. His spreads you open and watches your reaction to his little game. He doesn’t let you fall apart just yet and stops short when he feels your walls fluttering. 

His fingers go straight to his mouth, savoring you as soon as it hits his tongue. You bite your lip as you look at this ethereal man crave you like his life depends on it. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. You never knew someone could want someone like this. Watching his fingers go from his mouth down to unzip his pants, you feel so flustered. It didn’t matter how many times you had been with him, you can’t help but blush looking at him. You advert your eyes momentarily, unable to watch him. 

“Look at me,” he bellows.

Your eyes snap back to his intense ones and feel frozen.

“Look what you do to me,” he groans, adverting his eyes down.

His hand is wrapped around his cock, fully hard and his tip leaking with precum. 

Your heart wants to fly out of your chest, he’s too much. You didn’t know if you wanted to lick every inch of him first or just sink down on it and ride him.

“I’m sorry my king, let me take care of you,” you say low and sultry. One of your hands grab onto the arm rest of the throne, bending over a little, and the other wraps around his length. His eyes flutter closed when he feels your touch, groaning slightly. You lean in and kiss his neck, taking your time and lazily tugging his length in your hand. 

“Fuck come here. Sit down,” he growls.

His fingers unclip the garment from the front as his eyes take in the sight before him. He licks his lips and takes a sharp breath, acting like he’s never seen your bare skin before. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you onto his lap, leaving you face to face. You both stay silent looking onto each other’s needy eyes and he places both hands on your hips. He pushes you down slightly and you feel the tip of his length rest at your entrance. You hiss at the sensation, not prepared for him. He curses under his breath, rubbing his tip through your folds and spreading your wetness on him.

“Oh darling, I love how wet you get for me. You drive me mad, you know that hmm?” He groans, pushing your hips down to have his length inside you then lifts you back up. 

You loudly cry and place your hands on both of his shoulders, feeling weak already. 

“Oh god I know. I can’t help but need you,” you whimper.

“Good… keep wanting me and show me how much you need me,” he demands, his voice gruff and low.

You feel him guide his cock to your entrance again and you sink down on him. You groan his name and move slow, stretching around him and pleasure seeping through you. Your mind forgets everything around you except him. You only want to please him and make him feel the best he possibly can. Your eyes close as your hips move up and down on him and take more of him with each movement.

He groans loudly and has his hand on the small of your back, guiding your hips with each thrust. His other hand touches your face, down to your breasts and back up. You open your eyes back up and put your hands in his hair. Sweat clung to him and he looks intoxicated on you. His eyes still have that perilous look that they’ve never had before.

“Please don’t stop,” he growls.

You don’t want to either and listen to him. You move without much thought, just taking your time in enjoying him. His lips cover you in kisses. Your lips feel swollen and tender after the attention they get from him. When his mouth wasn’t kissing your face, they were sucking your breasts, leaving dark splotches all over them. 

You have him buried deep inside you, rocking back and forth in his lap as he clings onto you for dear life. His nails rake down your back, overwhelmed with you. Your body feels on fire and you are so close to letting go. The way he moans your name should not leave you feeling like you can cum on his command. But you have the same effect on him too. You whimper his name in his ear and tug on his hair as you ride him and he bucks his hips up, needing to have more of you.

You struggle for breath and let your head fall back as your hips grind at the base of his cock.

“Oh god… oh Loki I’m going to cum,” you groan.

He hums and you suddenly feel his hand wrap around your neck. You groan at the sensation and grind against him harder, your hand wrapped around his wrist. He squeezes you gently and instantly makes you fall apart. 

Your strangled cry echoes through the room and you hold onto him. Your walls flutter and squeeze around him, your release powerful and all consuming. He groans through his teeth when he feels you squeezing around him, not wanting you to stop moving. You felt too good and refused to believe anything by else existed besides you two. 

He places his hands back in your hips and stills you, pushing his pulsing cock inside you as he lets himself go. His face hides in the crook of your neck kissing you and saying your name like a hymn. Your body shakes against him as you both try to come down from your highs. He keeps you pressed against him and holds you like you’re the most precious thing to him. 

You pull his head away from you so you can look into his eyes. Strands of his hair cling to his face with sweat and his eyes still look tired. He knows you’re worried and tries to stop you from airing any of your grievances. His finger taps your lips, outlining the swollen cupids bow and indulging in the warmth. 

“You are everything,” he murmurs. 

You don’t quite know what to say to that but smile at him and try to swipe the hair away from his face. 

He stands up and carries you to bed, gently placing you in the center of it. He carefully pulls out of you and grunts when doing so. You grab at his arms, aching to have him near you again. The comfort he provided when he is close is indescribable. 

He looks at you and smiles but falters back for a moment. He’s clearly more weak than he’s letting on. You reach for him, wanting him to not move. 

“Loki please, rest. I don’t want to see you like this,” you say concerned. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I just need time to get used to having power again,” he says a bit breathless. 

“Then lay down with me,” you urge. 

He stops and there’s something in his eyes that he’s hiding. 

“I can’t darling. You are the one who needs rest,” he trod to say with a smile but he winced instead. 

Your anxiety grows and you don’t know what to do for him. You knew all of this was a bad idea but you had no idea the toll it would take on him. Is it your fault? Is your presence nearly killing him like the prophecy tells? You are his downfall after all, you could be hurting him without much effort. But the dread you felt in your soul from him being away from you is one of the worst pains imaginable. It makes you feel sick.

“Loki please don’t make me beg you. I can’t see you like this,” you tell him. 

He turns away from you and gathers his clothes that are scattered in the floor. You feel so helpless and know there isn’t anything you can do to make him listen. He gets his clothes on and walks to the door not before looking at you. Sorrow and pain fills his eyes.

“I’ll see you later.”

*

A week goes by and you barely leave the bedroom. You’re worried sick about Loki. He hardly comes home and is exhausted every time he does step foot into the penthouse. The sound of sirens and helicopters increased every single day. You didn’t dare to pick up your phone or put the tv on. You knew there was chaos outside and you wouldn’t dare to look at it. Because you caused it too. You’re equally responsible for this as he is. 

What on earth could you do? You love this man but his need for power and chaos would always triumph over you. He wants company, yes, but if you asked him to give this up, he’d never give in. He didn’t love you to do that. 

Tonight, you decide to stay up and wait for him to come home. You didn’t care if it was well into the early morning hours. You couldn’t handle him being away for this long. A loud crashing sound comes from outside and jolts the whole building. 

You rush out the bedroom and find Loki outside in his armor, collapsed on his hands and knees in pain. Your mind scrambles at what’s happening. You quickly run to him. There’s shards of glass everywhere and they pierce your knees and palms when you fall to him. You cry out in pain momentarily but Loki is far worse shape than you. 

He has cuts on his forehead and cheeks. Dirt caked his hands and his knuckles look bruised. 

“Loki, what happened!? What’s going on?” You ask frantically, grabbing his hand to get his attention. He’s cold, nearly shaking as he slowly looks your way. 

“What’s happening to you,” you ask, your throat tight with emotion. 

“I’m a frost giant darling. My true nature is showing itself for some reason…This is what I am,” he says ashamed. 

There’s so much to unpack and what that means for him but all you want to do is help him. He’s clearly in pain from what he just did and you have no idea how to make this any better.

“You need to stop Loki… I can’t have you doing this. You need to stop while you still can. I can’t have you hurt,” you tell him helplessly. 

“But I did it…” he says breathlessly. 

“You did what?” You ask.

“New York is mine.”

🗡️

🖤

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